


there's an ache in you (put there by the ache in me)

by shinelikemillions91



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Adam is a dad, M/M, big up wilmslow, fuck me i'm so excited for this one, george owns a farm, i paint wilmslow in a bad light, it's gonna be a long one kids, matty is the prodigal son, ross is a sweetheart, she's back with another au, sorry wilmslow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikemillions91/pseuds/shinelikemillions91
Summary: Matty left Wilmslow to make it big, but what happened to the people he left behind?
Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy
Comments: 60
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *incoherent screaming*
> 
> It's been almost a year since my last long fic, and wild horses couldn't keep me away, and since we're all stuck in lockdown again, what better way to pass the time than to read and write about two idiot boys being in love (for the millionth time).
> 
> I do not own any of The 1975, this is all fictional etc etc etc!
> 
> This chapter is kinda short, but they're definitely going to get longer as this progresses, just for the sake of the flow of the story, this one is a little shorter :)
> 
> Please enjoy, and let me know what you think 💖  
> LJ xx

Matty watches the wet, dreary landscape of the British countryside flash past his eyes, as the 13:20 Euston to Wilmslow train hurtles him towards a place he hasn’t called home in over seven years. His eyes follow the progress of a raindrop making its way down the window, and his stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch when the voice over the intercom announces that they’ll be arriving soon.

The train carriage is mercifully empty on this dreary Thursday afternoon in January, so that’s something, Matty thinks as his eyes rake over his admittedly meagre belongings, just a suitcase, an old battered backpack, and his trusty guitar; Matty’s only worldly possessions. All he has to show for himself after twenty-eight years on this planet, and if Matty hadn’t been feeling sorry for himself before, then he definitely was now.

Matty leans his head against the window of the train, ignoring the damp condensation against his face, trying to swallow down the nerves. His mum has no idea he’s coming home, no one does. His mum is the only person he’s kept in semi-regular contact with since leaving for London seven years ago. A phone call, two or three times a year just to reassure her that he wasn’t dead in a gutter. He would always ask how everyone was doing, to which her answer was always the same, ‘come home, and find out for yourself, Matthew.’

But she didn’t understand, he couldn’t have stayed there, he refused to stagnate in that tiny town where nothing ever happened, so he had left, and the longer he was gone, the harder it was to come back, it was easier to stay away. He didn’t want to face the consequences of his abrupt departure from Wilmslow all those years ago. That’s the main reason he cut all his ties, hasn’t spoken to any of his friends, at one point in time, his _best friends_. Ross, Adam, and of course, George. He doesn’t want to face their anger, he knows has a lot of explaining to do, and much like a child, he still wants to run from all of his problems. He’s a coward, plain and simple, and although he knows his mum will welcome him back with open arms, everyone else he’s not so sure about.

He’d been too young, just twenty-one, when he followed the girl of his dreams to London. Harriet had wanted to be a model, he wanted to be a singer, and neither of those things were going to happen in fucking Wilmslow. Their relationship had been unhealthy from the start, all they did was fuck, and argue, then fuck some more. Their short lived relationship ended three months after arriving in the capital, ending ultimately in a screaming match, and resulting in Matty throwing an ashtray at the kitchen window of their shitty rental flat in Soho. 

This started off Matty’s string of bad luck, a seven year series of failed jobs, failed bands, busking, drug addiction, brief homelessness and countless failed relationships, the most recent of which ended two days ago, hence the hasty decision to return home after so long. His most recent ex-boyfriend Oliver had kicked him out, calling Matty a leach, and a lazy piece of shit, complaining that Matty hadn’t contributed towards the rent in nearly three months. And of course, Matty had tried his best to explain that he was trying to get work, it’s just really hard to land a job just after Christmas (long having since given up trying to be a musician), but Oliver had just rolled his eyes like a long-suffering housewife, and told Matty with a drawn out sigh that after almost a year of being together, he was finally done. Matty had weighed up his options, deciding that he really didn't fancy sleeping on the streets of London in January, and therefore he would just have to swallow his pride, and his guilt, and finally go home.

‘The next station is Wilmslow. Please ensure you have all of your belongings with you before exiting the train.’

Matty rubs at his temples, then looks around the almost empty carriage, and it would appear that he’s the only person looking to be getting off at the next station. _I don’t fucking blame you_ , Matty thinks to himself as he sees the eerily familiar train station come into view. 

When they were younger, the only perk to living somewhere like Wilmslow was the fact that you were surrounded by countryside, plenty of places to get drunk and high, as long as some wanker farmer didn’t try and chase you off his land with a shotgun, that is. He fondly remembers the time he and George had been about eighteen, and drunk off their arses coming home from a party somewhere, they’d taken a shortcut home across a field, and George had decided that it would be a good idea to try and steal a chicken. Unfortunately, George, usually calm and even-tempered, is the complete opposite of that when drunk, and he had yelled _‘come here, you fucking cunt!’_ at the top of his voice when the chicken in question had evaded capture. And Matty, too doubled over in hysterics hadn’t noticed the irate, red-faced farmer coming towards them with a massive gun. Safe to say that they had legged it pretty sharpish, sadly sans the chicken. They’d been so wired with adrenaline by the time they’d stopped running that George had kissed him, pressed him up against a tree, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him...

Matty gathers up his stuff, slinging his backpack on his back, his guitar over his shoulder, and lugging the suitcase clumsily through the aisle, aware that the small amount of other passengers in his carriage are looking at him. He knows he looks a wreck, his badly bleached blonde hair is in dire need of a wash, and his old leather jacket is a little bit worse for wear. He needs new clothes, needs new everything really, but with less than a hundred quid to his name, that’s not going to happen any time soon, especially when the bastard train ticket cost him nearly sixty quid one way.

When he steps outside, Matty quickly realises that he’s definitely not prepared for the cold northern wind and persistent drizzle that has him soaked in seconds. He’d forgotten how fucking miserable the weather could be up here, it had been sunny when he’d left London, the weather worsening the further north he went. 

_Fucking pathetic fallacy._

‘Fuck this,’ Matty mutters to himself as he drags his suitcase through the barrier, gaining himself a disapproving look from a mum who has her young son’s hand clutched in hers, but Matty can’t even bring himself to care. He’s too wired with anxiety and nerves, he feels sick, and he’s genuinely surprised that being back here is having such a tangible physical reaction within him. Though he supposes it’s not the place that’s making him feel anxious, it’s the people he might run into. When he’d first left, he’d been plagued by phone calls from his mum, George, Ross, and Adam, but he’d ignored them all, until eventually everyone but his mum had stopped even trying. 

Suppose he’s walking down the street, and he just bumps into George, or Adam, or Ross? He obviously has no idea if any of his old friends still live in Wilmslow. He actually hopes for their sakes that they managed to get out, much like he did, only with hopefully better results. He likes to imagine that Adam is a top scientist somewhere, doing important life-changing medical research, maybe working for a University. He always was the smart one. Ross will be doing something fun, maybe a travel rep, or a ski instructor. He was the outgoing one, a party animal that could drink all of them under the table at any given moment. And George, well George will be some big producer, making music, working with famous people all over the world. George was always destined to make it big. Always the most talented out of the lot of them, his George.

And what was he? A talentless loud-mouth with delusions of grandeur, all talk and no trousers, and look where it’s got him, right back where he fucking started.

The wind and rain batters Matty as he walks down the main street, he knows he’s coming up to his old school. He can hear the chatter of kids, his eyes trained on the ground to avoid the rain getting into his face, and he supposes school must be out for the day because when he glances up briefly there are kids milling about wearing his old school uniform. Matty fleetingly wonders if his brother is around. He’d be seventeen now, almost leaving age, and his stomach twists with guilt. Louis had been nearly ten when he left, not really old enough to understand what was really going on, and even though Matty had always made sure to send Louis a card on his birthday, he knew it wasn’t enough. Another person to add to the list of people he’s let down.

‘Watch it, mate!’ Some kid calls after him as he knocks into them with his suitcase, but he just keeps walking, he has to keep moving forwards, or he’ll bottle it and use up the last of his money hightailing it back to London like the fucking coward he is.

The rain eases into icy sleet as his walk continues, his feet on autopilot as he walks the familiar streets. Everything seems somehow smaller yet achingly familiar, even though he’d already been an adult when he left. He knows he’s a completely different person now than he was when he was twenty-one, but his hometown has stayed the same, and he’s not sure if he finds this suffocating or comforting, maybe a mixture of both.

The path disappears as he makes his way out of the town towards the more remote parts of the countryside, and Matty struggles with his suitcase on the muddy verge. His Vans and the bottoms of his jeans are caked in mud, and he kind of wishes he’d forked out for a taxi. He had wanted to use the walk as a way of clearing his head, of preparing himself for what was to come, but now he’s just wet, muddy, and irritable, not to mention anxious to the point of feeling queasy.

The anxiety increases tenfold as he turns down the long, narrow lane that leads to his old family home. He has absolutely no idea if his mum, or anyone is going to be there to let him in, and he anticipates potentially sitting on the doorstep for a few hours as it progressively gets darker and colder. However, as he nears the house, he can see that there’s a car in the driveway, so at least someone’s home.

By the time he reaches the front door, he’s a shivering mess, his hands are so cold that when he finally builds up enough courage to knock on the front door, he finds that it physically hurts to ball his hands up into fists. The wait is agonising, and Matty stares at his ruined shoes. It feels like eons, but it’s probably more like thirty seconds, and he finds that his heart gives a painful tug when he hears his mum’s voice coming from inside the house, even though it’s muffled.

‘Louis, if that’s you forgetting your bloody key again, I’m going to put it on a piece of string and tie it around your neck!’

Matty looks up as the door clicks open, and if he weren’t so cold and scared, he’d laugh at his mum’s comical expression. Her mouth is agape until it crumples, and suddenly he’s being pulled into the warmest, tightest hug he’s had in years. She clings to him, squeezing him tightly even though he’s soaking wet, and Matty is fleetingly reminded of how George likes to hug, full-bodied and warm. He hasn’t thought of George’s hugs in years, and he’s pulled out of his musing of his old best friend by his mum’s shaky voice.

‘Matthew, is it really-- you didn’t tell me you were coming back! You fucking stupid boy, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?!’

Matty manages a sheepish smile.

‘Hi, mum.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until the weekend to post this chapter, but I'm sort of on a roll so I thought hey why not post it early, as a little treat, you know? 🥺
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, they mean the world to me, and I really am so excited about the ideas I have for this story.
> 
> Enjoy, darlings 💖

It’s a universal truth, Matty thinks, as he sits at the kitchen table with his mum, that no one makes a cup of tea quite like Denise Healy. Tea is basic, of course it is; tea bag, boiling water, milk, sugar. Boom. But his mum’s tea is the best tea in the world, and he’s almost angry at himself for forgetting that fact in the time that he’s been gone. 

She’s sitting across from him now, her neatly manicured hands clasped around her own mug of tea, an unreadable expression on her made up face. He casts his eyes away from hers, and glances around the kitchen. Nothing has really changed, there’s some new art on the walls, and the fridge is different, but otherwise everything is exactly the same. Matty isn’t sure why he thought everything would have really changed, seven years isn’t that that much time in the grand scheme of things, except to Matty it feels like a lifetime. 

When his mum had bundled him inside, swiftly ridding him of his things, she had told him to wait there in the hallway, before rushing up the cream carpeted stairs, her silver bangles rattling as she went, and she’d reappeared with a pair of joggers, some socks, and a blissfully warm looking hoodie.

‘They’re Lou’s. He’s not that much smaller than you, but he likes things baggy, so I’m sure they’ll fit,’ she had said with a soft smile. The last time he’d seen Louis, he’d only come up to Matty’s elbow, and now they’re fucking sharing clothes.

Matty had taken them gratefully, and changed in the downstairs toilet, not wanting to get mud all over the house. He had taken his time, examining his pale, worn out face, poking at the bags under his eyes, and scowling at tbe fucking awful bleach job Oliver had done on his hair. He vows to get his hair done at the next available opportunity, but he has to get a job first. Deciding to worry about all that later, Matty had washed his face in an attempt to make himself look more human, and now he’s sitting opposite his mum at the kitchen table, bundled up in his brother’s clothes, and clutching the best cup of tea he’s had in seven years.

‘So,’ Denise starts, taking a careful sip of her steaming tea. ‘Tell me what happened, then.’

And that’s how Matty ends up telling his mum everything, he holds absolutely nothing back, even when a few tears start to stream down her face, making tracks in her makeup, and causing her mascara to run. He tells her about being homeless for three months in the summer of 2014, he tells her about the abusive boyfriend who landed him in A&E with three broken ribs, and a broken nose, about his drug addiction, and his subsequent stint in rehab, about Oliver, and how he kicked him out with little to no warning at all. He tells her everything, and he’s horrified when he realises that by the time the torrent of words have finished spilling from his lips, that he, too, is crying just as much as his mum is. She grabs hold of his hands from across the table, and squeezes them tight, shaking her head, almost as if in disbelief. 

‘Why didn’t you come home, you stupid, stupid boy?!’ Denise snaps through her tears, letting go of Matty’s hands to carefully wipe at her teary face. Matty mirrors her actions, rubbing his eyes, moving his fingers up to massage his temples while he tries to come up with an excuse that doesn’t sound completely pathetic.

‘The longer I stayed away, the harder it became to come back,’ he says quietly, dropping his eyes to look at his hands. ‘I just thought that if— if I stuck it out down there, then it would all turn out okay in the end, it would make it worth it. Fuck. Mum, I’m so sorry…’

The tears start again in earnest, his breath hitching, and then his mum’s arms are around him once again, a little awkward due to the position, but it feels so good to be held. She rocks and hushes him while he cries; he feels so small, pathetic, like a child who’s fallen over and scraped his knee, needing his mum to make things all better again. 

‘We’ve all missed you so much, love,’ Denise says softly, he fingers stroking slowly through his hair.

‘Who’s we?’ Matty asks, his voice scratchy and a little hoarse from the tears.

‘Me, your dad, Louis…’ She trails off, pulling away so she can sit next to him now, and Matty is glad that they no longer have the kitchen table separating them. His mum’s presence is more of a comfort than he knows how to put into words.

Matty wants to ask, ‘what about the guys?’ but the words get stuck in his throat. His mum was always cagey when it came to them when Matty asked about them in the past. He refuses to believe that she doesn’t know, he, George, Ross and Adam were always _her boys_ , that’s what she’d always said. She has to know how they are.

‘You wanna know about them, don’t you?’ Denise asks, to which Matty gives her a small nod, glad that his tears have finally dried up, and glad that his mum knows what he needs without having to voice it. He’s not even sure why he can’t just come out and ask, but he guesses it doesn’t really matter now.

The last time he’d seen George, Ross, and Adam, George and Ross had been working at the local pub, pulling pints. George had been studying music production on the side whereas Ross only stayed in that job because it was a really good place to pick up girls. Adam had been studying biochemistry, and tutoring a little, as well as giving guitar lessons to make a bit of extra cash. Matty hopes, more than anything in the world, that his best friends have made it, that they’re happy, and successful, and in a much better state than he is.

‘I’m not actually too sure about Ross anymore,’ Denise laughs. ‘He’s had a lot of jobs… he stayed at that pub for about a year after you left, but I heard through the grapevine that he got the sack because his boss caught him uhh… how do I put this delicately?’ 

‘You don’t have to put it delicately,’ Matty laughs, he can’t help it. It’s so wonderfully Ross to get potentially caught shagging on the job.

‘He got caught getting sucked off in the cloakroom when he should have been working,’ Denise says bluntly, and Matty cackles, smacking his hand down on the table, his heart lightening tenfold as he watches his mum’s face ease into a smile as she continues. ‘I'm pretty sure he works in the bank now, but he worked in Asda for a bit, a couple of years ago.’

Matty’s face falls a little bit at that. A bank? That’s the last place someone like Ross should be working, he’s too loud, too outgoing to be working in a fucking bank. He’s almost angry at Ross even though he has no right to be, especially not from where he’s standing with no home, no job, and no money to call his own. Still, he has higher aspirations for Adam and George. He watches his mum, waiting for her to continue.

‘Adam, well… he’s Louis’ biology teacher,’ Denise says with a smile. ‘I’m always bumping into Adam’s mum at the supermarket, and she always talks about how well he’s doing… he actually-- well, he’s a dad, Matty…’

Matty’s heart gives a lurch, and he can feel he tears pricking at the corners of his eyes once again. His Adam. Geeky, awkward, skinny Adam that used to get so shy and embarrassed around girls that the tips of his ears used to go pink - a teacher and a fucking _father_. He can’t believe it. The pride washes over him and hits him stronger than any emotion he’s felt in a very long time, even though he hasn’t seen or spoken to Adam in years, the pride is undeniable. Okay, so he’s not a cure-for-cancer scientist or anything like that, but he’s a dad, and somehow that’s better in Matty’s eyes.

‘How long-- I mean… how old?’ Matty asks, his voice cracking, furiously swiping at his eyes now. He never would have guessed that being home would bring out the waterworks, but here he is.

‘Oh gosh, Liam must be at least two by now,’ Denise says gently, noting her son’s tears and setting a hand over his where it’s settled on the table top. ‘Adam and Grace are actually getting married in August,,’ she goes on, squeezing his hand. ‘We’ve been invited, me, your dad, and Lou… maybe if you’re-- if you’re still around then, I’m sure Adam would love-’ 

Denise stops mid-sentence when she sees that Matty is shaking his head. 

‘One day at a time, yeah, mum?’ Matty says quietly, his stomach twisting with something he can’t place, can’t put a name to. Can he see himself living back here, surrounded by all his childhood friends? Maybe, but he doesn’t want to give his mum false hope unnecessarily, especially considering he’s only been back for a few hours.

‘Sorry, sorry yes. I’m just-- I’m so glad you’re home, Matthew,’ Denise says quietly. ‘I just really wish you didn’t have to go through all of those horrible things to get you here. You’ll always be my baby, and you’ve always got a home here, okay?’

Matty nods.

‘How’s George?’ Matty almost spits out, not wanting to really admit that out of his group of friends, it’s George, his _best friend_ that he’s really eager to know about. He loves them all, of course, but George is George, and George was special...

‘Sweetheart, about George…’ Denise trails off, and Matty’s heart plummets, obviously expecting the absolute worst.

‘He’s okay, right?’ Matty asks quickly, feeling almost light headed by how fast his heart is beating. 

‘He’s okay… he’s just had a bit of a rough time of it recently from what I’ve heard,’ Denise says gently.

This doesn’t do much to assuage Matty’s worry, or his guilt. George has been going through a rough time, and he wasn’t here. He wasn’t there for him.

‘What happened?’

Denise sighs. ‘I don’t know all the details, but he was engaged for quite a long time, I think they were saving up for the wedding, then one day she was gone, George left his job at the pub, and now he owns that old farm on the way out of town. I haven’t seen him in over a year…’ she trails off, looking sad. ‘You’d be better off talking to Adam or Ross though, I’m sure they know more about what happened, though there’s rumours that she left him for someone else...’

Matty’s brow knits into a frown, trying to comprehend his mum’s words. All the while being assaulted by a memory so strong that it feels like it was just yesterday, rather than over twelve years ago. George has always historically had the worst luck with getting girls to stick around, and Matty remembers so vividly how George had shown up on his doorstep, at the age of fifteen, having been dumped for the very first time...

He and George had been sitting on his bedroom floor, backs propped up against the edge of Matty’s bed while George cried. Saying in between sobs that Molly was the one, and that he loved her, and that it wasn’t _fucking fair_. George’s eyes had been bright with tears, and it physically hurt Matty to see his beautiful best friend so upset. So Matty, barely sixteen and not so well versed in matters of the heart, did the only thing he could think to do to cheer George up, he had leant in slowly, and pressed his lips gently against George’s, barely a touch, but George’s tears stopped almost immediately. _’She doesn’t deserve you, you’re so lovely,’_ Matty had murmured, because it was the truth, George was lovely, and fuck any stupid teenage girl that couldn’t see that. Matty wasn’t even really sure when he’d started looking at George in that kind of way, but in that moment it didn’t matter because George had kissed him again, deeper, and they kissed and kissed until they’d both been giggly and breathless, and Matty hadn’t stopped to think about the implications of his actions, he just wanted to see George smile.

‘Can’t believe George owns a fucking farm,’ Matty says quietly, an almost bitter laugh bubbling up in his throat. George always hated those fucking farmers, all they did was yell and interrupt valuable getting high time, and now he’s one of them. He wonders if George also likes to yell at unsuspecting teenagers and wave a shotgun around like a lunatic. None of that sits right with Matty, and his heart aches for his beautiful best friend.

‘Maybe you could try and see George, I’m sure he’d love to--’

‘Mum, what’s all this stuff?’ A voice calling from the hallway cuts Denise off. 

Louis. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

‘Lou, love. Can you come into the kitchen quickly,’ Denise calls out, and Matty’s eyes widen as he looks at his mum in a ‘you couldn’t have given me some more time to prepare for this moment’ sort of way.

Denise mouths ‘sorry’ at him, and then Louis is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, school shirt untucked, tie askew, a pair of grubby Nikes trailing mud on the floor, and a slightly sullen expression on his face. He looks so much like Matty did at that age that it makes Matty almost do a double take.

‘Hi, mate,’ Matty offers a smile, and awkwardly gets to his feet because it feels like it’s the right thing to do, but Louis makes no move towards him, instead he turns on his heel and walks back out into the hallway.

‘I guess I deserve that,’ Matty sighs, collapsing back down into the chair, and rubbing his face. He has a headache starting in his temples, and everything is starting to feel a little bit too overwhelming.

‘He’ll come around. You just need to give him time,’ Denise says, putting a hand on Matty’s shoulder. ‘He’s a grumpy little shit at the best of times, in fact he’s exactly like you were at seventeen.’

‘Wasn’t that bad,’ Matty mumbles.

Denise just scoffs at that, and Matty smiles at her. He can’t put into words how grateful he is that his mum hasn’t just chucked him out, and he vows to make it up to her, and Louis, and everyone in any way he can.

‘Come on, your dad will be home soon. Want to help me make dinner?’

‘I’d love to.’

**

If Matty thought he was done being hit by waves of nostalgia, then he’s definitely proven wrong when he opens the door to his old bedroom. He takes a deep breath, and drags his stuff through the door, closing it behind him, and his heart aches again when he realises that his mum hasn’t changed a thing since he left, everything is the same down to the posters on the wall, the black and white striped sheets on his bed, and the stacks and stacks of CDs and records on the shelves. Everything is clean, so she obviously comes in to give it a once over every now and then, and for some reason this makes Matty want to cry all over again.

Louis had refused to join them for dinner, opting to go out instead, so Matty had spent dinner alone with his mum and dad for the first time in so long that Matty can’t even remember when the last time was. However, Matty does remember that the last time he had seen his dad cry was when Louis was born, until today that is. Because when he got home from work, he had pulled Matty into a tight hug, a mumbled ‘welcome back, son’ on his lips before pulling away and wiping furiously at his eyes. And Matty can’t believe he ever thought that either his mum or his dad would do anything other than welcome him back with open arms. Louis can be a work in progress for now. 

Matty’s eyes sweep over his old room, landing on the small reddish stain the middle of the carpet from where Ross had thrown a slice of pizza in the air, claiming to be able to catch it in his mouth, which was of course, total bullshit, and the pizza had landed toppings down on the carpet. Matty smiles fondly, shaking his head and moving further into the room, the memories coming thick and fast now, losing his virginity to Katie Cartwright in this very bed at age sixteen. Smoking countless joints with George with the windows thrown wide open in the hopes of his mum not being able to smell it. Sitting at that desk, George kneeling between his legs, a dark look on his face before taking Matty’s cock between his lips for the first time...

Instead of rooting around in his suitcase for something to sleep in, he goes to his old chest of drawers. It’s still half full of his old clothes as he hadn’t been able to take everything with him the day he left, so he grabs a pair of pj bottoms and an old baggy vest that probably used to be George’s, and quickly changes into them. The vest comes half way down his thighs. Definitely George’s, Matty thinks.

Matty grabs his wash bag from his backpack and hastily brushes his teeth in the en suite. He knows he should shower, but a wave of exhaustion hits him so hard that he decides it can wait until the morning.

The sheets are soft, and warm when he climbs into his old bed, and he can’t help but bury his face into the pillow, and breathe in the comforting smell of home. He’s starting to realise that it took leaving to make him appreciate everything he took for granted during the first twenty-one years of his life. A warm bed, a hot meal, a hug from someone who loves you unconditionally.

Matty closes his eyes, and thinks of his friends. Of George in particular. His stupid, goofy, unintentionally hilarious best friend, with his weird laugh, his warm hugs, and his heart made of gold. They spent so many nights in his bed together; innocent at first, when they were young, staying up giggling until stupid ‘o clock in the morning so they were both bleary eyed over breakfast, and his mum would scold them for staying up so late. But then it all changed after the day he kissed George to stop him from crying, they would kiss for a laugh, because it felt nice, it felt right, and it was their little secret, but then it progressed further the older they got. They found it impossible to keep their hands off each other when they were alone, even if either of them weren’t technically single, it never stopped them; but then one day, it did stop. George stopped it. George said he thought it would be best if they didn’t do _that_ anymore. So they stopped. Matty left for London one week later. 

Matty wonders if George will even see him if he tried. The last text from George, after Matty had ignored the previous thirty, had very succinctly said ‘fuck you’, so he’s not expecting the warmest reception, from any of them, but George especially. He knows he’s fucked up, he’s handled things terribly, and the only reason he’s even here, in his old bed in this old town, is because he felt like he didn’t really have any other choice. But he knows now why he really came back, deep down he knows that he needs to assuage the guilt, he needs to make amends, he needs to apologise.

Matty falls asleep eventually, a plan forming in his head of how to redeem himself. All the best characters get a reception arc after all, surely Matty deserves one too?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> I'm really, really enjoying writing this so far, and I hope you're enjoying reading it just as much! It's my birthday tomorrow so I really really wanted to get this out before then.
> 
> Psssst, comments make the best birthday present! 🥺
> 
> Enjoy!

Matty casts his eyes across the teacher’s car park of his old school with trepidation and a looming sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. His fingers are itching for a cigarette, but there are signs all over the car park that say ‘no smoking’, and it would seem like he has lost that element of his rebellious nature, not wanting to get into an argument with any of the teachers, and make a scene. He’s here to talk to Adam, not to antagonise anyone. The weather is mercifully a lot more cheerful than that of yesterday, though it’s still freezing even though the sun is shining, so Matty breathes on his hands and rubs them together in a futile attempt to warm them up while he waits.

He’d spent the majority of the day unpacking, and getting used to being back at home, and he’d spent a good half an hour in the shower, making full use of the fact that it’s a power shower. A far cry from Oliver’s shower back in London which just felt like someone lightly pissing on your head, which was never particularly conducive to effective washing of any kind.

Matty would be lying if he said it wasn’t weird as fuck being back, not just in general, but at his old school in particular, and if he thought that the town felt smaller since he’s been back, that’s nothing compared to how tiny his school looks to him now. He remembers his first day in year seven, when he’d felt very small indeed, dwarfed by his massive school blazer that was at least two sizes too big (which his mum had insisted that he would grow into soon enough), not to mention being smaller than the other kids anyway. _God, this feels so weird,_ Matty thinks to himself, glancing at the time on his phone. 15:18 on a Friday afternoon, Adam should be out soon, because what self-respecting adult stays at work any longer than they have to on a Friday?

The answer to that question, however, is apparently Adam fucking Hann. Matty watches countless teachers leave while he waits, a few he recognises, but most he doesn’t. And if they recognise him they don’t say anything, he supposes he looks a lot different now than he did ten years ago. 

Matty is about to give up, and go home, assuming that maybe Adam is off sick or something, when he spots him walking across the car park in Matty’s general direction.

Adam has hardly changed, still tall, still skinny, his hair is a little shorter though, and not a pair of skinny jeans or a band shirt in sight. He’s well dressed in a suit, carrying a briefcase, and he’s making Matty feel more underdressed than he’s ever felt in his life. Matty self-consciously tugs at his tatty leather jacket, and congratulates himself on at least having the foresight to put on his jeans with no rips, and his nicest (actually his only) pair of boots.

A wave of nausea washes over Matty, and he tries to calmly remind himself that he chose Adam, for the main reason that he feels like Adam’s reaction might be the most favourable to seeing Matty just pop up after seven years of total radio silence. But Matty’s fear gets the better of him, and his fight or flight response kicks in, and his body seemingly goes for the latter, causing him to turn around quickly, but not quick enough, it would seem.

‘Matty?’

Matty freezes.

‘Matty, is-- is that you?’

‘Uh… yeah, hi,’ Matty gives an awkward grin, raising his hand in a poor imitation of normal human interaction, somewhere between a wave and a high five.

Adam’s face is comical, much like his mum’s was yesterday when he appeared out of the blue on the doorstep. He’s close, within touching distance, and Matty supposes it’s a little too much to ask for Adam to pull him into a hug like his mum had, so they both stand there, frozen, and Adam is blinking, his mouth working like he’s trying to form sentences, but he’s forgotten what words are.

‘What the fuck, Matty?’ Adam finally manages, giving him an almost withering stare that makes Matty feel about two feet tall. Adam was always very good at _the look_.

‘Long time so see,’ Matty tries, floundering slightly, because now he’s here, and actually faced with Adam, he’s starting to wish he’d planned a speech or something. He offers Adam a small, tentative smile, but he’s met with a stony glare, and all Matty wants to do now is burst into tears. ‘How have you been, mate?’ He continues, trying not to be deterred by the look Adam is giving him.

Adam just shakes his head, dipping a hand into his coat pocket and retrieving a set of car keys. Matty is about to go and try and grab Adam’s arm to stop him from leaving, already having been rejected by Louis, it can’t happen again, not by Adam of all people, but then Adam heaves a sigh and nods towards the black Ford that they’re standing next to.

‘Dunno how you managed to know which car was mine, but get in. I don’t wanna have this conversation out here, okay?’ Adam mutters, unlocking the car, and putting his briefcase in the back. Matty spies a child’s car seat from the gap between the door, and can’t help but smile. Daddy Adam with his child’s car seat, and his briefcase.

The silence in the car is deafening when Matty closes the door behind him. Adam is sitting behind the wheel, his jaw set in a tight line, and Matty knows he has so much explaining to do, but at least it looks like Adam might be willing to listen. Why else would he invite Matty into his car?

‘How long have you been back?’ Adam asks, breaking the silence after what seems like an age of them just awkwardly sitting next to each other, and not saying anything.

‘Got back yesterday,’ Matty says quietly, looking at his hands in his lap, hating more than anything how awkward this feels. Not that he expected any warmth at first, but Adam feels like a total stranger, and it sucks. It really fucking sucks.

‘You staying at your mum’s?’

Matty nods, looking over at Adam now, who seems to be studying him closely.

‘I should tell you to fuck of,’ Adam sighs. ‘But you look like shit, and I guess I’m too fucking soft. George would have punched your lights out already.’

Ouch. Okay, now that hurts. Matty’s face crumples, and he has to pinch the bridge of his nose to stop the threatening tears. 

‘I’m so fucking sorry, Adam,’ Matty mumbles when Adam doesn’t offer him anything else to work with. He looks over at his old friend, and hopes that Adam can see the genuine sincerity in his eyes. ‘For everything; for fucking off, for ghosting everyone, I’m so, so sorry. I deserve for you to kick me out of this car, I deserve a punch in the fucking face, I just— fuck, Adam, mate. It’s been so shit. My mum told me about your kid, and I’m so happy for you, and your girl-‘ 

Matty cuts himself off to swallow down a sob, and he can pinpoint the moment that Adam’s steely resolve starts to soften a little. He offers Matty a sort of smile, a quick upturn at the corners of his mouth before he speaks.

‘You’ve missed a lot, Matty. So much has happened since you left.’

‘I wanna hear it all,’ Matty admits, looking imploringly over at Adam. ‘I wanna see Ross… and George…’

Matty watches Adam’s forehead crease a little when he mentions George’s name, and his heart aches. He needs to find out what’s happened to George. He needs to know everything. His mum told him all she knew, but there must be more to it than that, and only Adam and Ross are going to be able to help him join the dots. He fiddles with a stray bit of cotton coming away from the hem of his shirt, while he waits with bated breath for Adam to speak.

‘Do you have to be anywhere?’ Adam asks after many, many beats of silence, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket. He taps out a quick message while Matty shakes his head. The one and only perk of being jobless is having as much free time as possible, Matty just hopes that no one expects him to buy a round.

‘I’ve just asked Ross to meet us at the pub when he finishes work.’

Matty smiles then, and Adam offers him a smile back, though it’s unsure, and Matty can tell that he doesn’t trust him just yet, which is totally fair enough given the circumstances.

‘What about George? Can he come too?’

‘George… doesn’t really do the pub anymore,’ Adam says slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully, but he doesn’t elaborate any further, just turns on the engine and reverses out of his parking space. Matty doesn’t press further. He knows he’ll get an explanation, but Adam obviously wants Ross to be there when he does, which is worrying. Maybe what happened to George is way more serious than his mum had originally thought. 

The silence in the car isn’t exactly comfortable, but it’s not awkward either, it’s just silence, and after a few minutes Adam turns on the radio which helps a little bit, and Matty gets to thinking about one of the last times he’d shared a car with Adam. It was a few months before he’d left, they’d all been on their way back from a party. Adam had been driving, Ross in the passenger seat, and he and George in the back, and with the exception of Adam, they’d all been high as fucking kites due to a particularly strong bit of weed George had managed to get his hands on. Matty had been surreptitiously rubbing George’s cock through his jeans in the backseat, and Adam and Ross had been bickering over what CD to listen to when they’d been pulled over by the police.

‘Hey, remember that time we got pulled over by the police, and we thought it was because they could smell the weed, but it was actually because you were doing thirty in a fifty zone?’

‘Shut up,’ Adam mutters, but Matty looks over, and Adam is smiling.

Matty thinks this is definitely a start.

**

When they arrive at the pub, Adam excuses himself quickly to call Grace and to let her know that he’s going to be late home. Matty supposes Grace knows all about him, and he just hopes that Adam painted him in a somewhat favourable light if he was ever to meet her, and Liam. He comes back with two pints in hand, and a nervous smile on his face. The pub isn’t crowded yet, not like it’ll be in a few hours time, and it seems like there’s so much that both of them need to say, but neither know how to start without Ross there. Matty wants to tell Adam everything, bare his soul like he did to his mum last night, but he doesn’t want to feel like he’s making excuses for himself, like the only reason he came back was because he didn’t really have another option. Because while that is the truth, it’s so much more than that, and he needs his friends to forgive him.

‘I really appreciate this,’ Matty says, tipping his pint towards Adam. ‘It’s been a while since--’ he cuts himself off, refusing to start the pity party this fucking early on in the proceedings. ‘--it’s just been a while, so thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Adam says, tapping his fingers on the sticky pub table, like he’s struggling to think of what to say.

Matty fucking hates awkward silences.

‘My mum tells me you’re getting married, congrats, mate.’

A soft smile graces Adam’s face then, and it softens his features as he nods, sipping his beer.

‘Yeah, in August,’ he affirms. ‘We’ve been putting it off for ages because of Liam and stuff. Grace wanted to wait until she lost her baby weight, and then we decided to wait until Liam was old enough to be involved, you know?’

Matty nods, even though he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know at all. The only experience he has with babies is when Louis was small, and he was hardly the involved brother type.

‘He’ll be three in May, we’re gonna get him a little suit and everything to match the groomsmen. Honestly though, my parents weren’t too happy about us doing it the wrong way round. They’re a firm believer in getting married first, then babies, but they’re so smitten with Liam. Mum’s always asking to babysit, even though we don’t really need her to!’

Matty smiles fondly at how a flush rises in Adam’s cheeks when he talks, obviously excited about the prospect of getting married, and Matty is so, so happy for his friend he feels like he could burst.

‘How did you meet Grace?’ Matty asks, relieved that conversation seems to be flowing a little easier now.

‘We met a few months after you-- after you left,’ Adam clears his throat, and Matty is endeared to see that Adam’s ears still go pink when he gets embarrassed. Some things never change. ‘She was actually one of my pupils, I taught her guitar, would you believe it?’

‘That’s disgustingly cute,’ Matty laughs, his heart giving a tug when Adam grins at him.

Maybe things are going to be okay after all.

‘Oh my fucking god. Matty?’

Matty starts in his chair, because he hasn’t heard Ross’ voice in so long. He twists around to look in the direction of the voice, and there’s Ross, in a suit and tie, and Matty’s old friends are _really_ making him feel underdressed today. Matty doesn’t even own a fucking suit! Ross is grinning from ear to ear, and if he’s being honest, this is not how he thought Ross would react. Ross always used to be quite belligerent, and if he was going to get a bollocking from any of his old mates, Matty would have been prepared to swear that it would have been from Ross.

Matty’s standing up before he knows what he’s doing, and then Ross is barrelling into him, and wrapping him in the biggest bear hug he’s ever experienced. Ross smells, and looks incredible, and Matty just lets himself melt into the hug, pressing his face into Ross’ chest, and not caring that the half-full pub is probably looking at them right now.

‘Don’t you fucking ever leave us like again, you utter twat,’ Ross mutters against his ear, and the relieved sob that leaves Matty’s lips takes him utterly by surprise, glad that it’s muffled by Ross’ coat, and his warm, sturdy chest. Adam lets out a wolf whistle, and Matty lets out a wet giggle as he pulls away, wiping his face quickly with his sleeve while Ross smiles down at him.

‘Fuckin’ missed you, mate,’ Ross laughs, patting Matty’s arm. ‘But your hair looks like utter shit.’

‘Oliver, my ex, was training to be a hairdresser,’ Matty says with an exaggerated eye roll, sitting down, and scooting over so there’s room for Ross around the table. ‘I naively said I’d be his test subject, and I’ve been regretting it ever since.’

‘I’ve never dyed my hair in my life, and I’m sure I could do a better fucking job than that!’ Ross laughs, his eyes scanning the table as he sits down. 

He gives Adam a pointed look. 

‘You buy the prodigal fucking son here a beer, but not the guy who stuck around, what’s the deal with that, Hann?’

And just like that, they’re back, and it’s like he never left, and when Ross goes up to the bar, flipping Adam off as he goes, Matty has to quickly wipe his teary eyes, and thank whatever deity up there for Ross fucking MacDonald.

**

They’re a few beers in when Matty finally gains the courage to bring up the elephant in the room; the fact that they’re a man down. It’s so lovely to see Adam and Ross, of course it is, but it feels strange without George there, without his stupid one liners, weird facts, and ridiculous laugh. Now that he’s back with the lads, the lack of George’s presence makes Matty miss him so much that it feels like a physical ache in his chest.

He’s spent the last few hours filling them both in on his escapades in London, but leaving out some of the more sordid details, and he thanks them, and then apologises to them profusely, so much so that Ross actually tells him to shut up eventually. God, he loves his friends. 

‘So are either of you going to tell me what the fuck is going on with George, or what?’ Matty asks, dragging his finger over a bead of condensation on his pint glass, his stomach doing somersaults as he looks over at his two best mates.

Adam and Ross glance at each other like they’re having a telepathic conversation about who should get to speak.

‘Fuck, Matty,’ Ross sighs, downing the rest of his pint. ‘To tell you the truth, we’re both really fucking worried about him. We hardly see him…’ he trails off, and he suddenly looks incredibly sad, they both do. Matty feels almost paralysed by fear and worry as he waits for them to tell him what the fuck is going on.

‘I guess we should start at the beginning,’ Adam says, Ross giving him the go ahead nod.

Matty grips his pint glass like an anchor as Adam starts to speak.

‘George was… well-- he was in a really bad way after you left,’ Adam explains, making Matty’s heart plummet, he knew he had to be involved in this somehow.

‘Like… really not good. He quit his college course, stopped coming out with us. He just used to smoke a lot, and stay in his bedroom. His mum was so worried, George just shut himself off completely, he would show up to work, but that’s about it. The only time he was happy was when he was stoned out of his mind, but even then it wasn’t real happiness, and he refused to talk about you, and if either Ross or I bought you up he’d just tell us to fuck off... And this went on for like a year I guess…’ Adam stops for breath, taking a long drink from his pint, and Matty only just realises that he’s holding his breath. He lets it out slowly, but it comes out shaky, and Ross shoots him a concerned look as Adam continues.

‘But then he met Harley, and honestly it was like someone turned a fucking light on in his head, he was obsessed with her, mate. She used to come into the pub, and he was just this fucking puppy dog around her, it was quite sickening really. But it was like this whirlwind thing, and they’d been dating less than a year when he proposed to her. And obviously we were happy for him, but also we were just like… a bit worried, it was far too soon, and we didn’t really like her, but we never really knew why.’

‘Fucking bitch,’ Ross mutters under his breath, deciding now that it’s his turn to take over the story. 

‘George, bless him. He stopped smoking weed, saved up every penny, wanted to give Harley the best wedding he could. I think he’d saved up something stupid like almost thirty grand in the end. But then one day, she fucking-- fuck… sorry,’ Ross takes a deep breath, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, sorry. Fuck. She makes me so fucking mad. Right, yeah… she shows up at the pub in the middle of George’s shift, and just fucking ends it after over four years together. Apparently she’d met someone else with a better job, and a better car or some fucking shit like that, she’d been seeing him behind George’s back for over a year.’

‘What the fuck?’ Matty spits, unable to keep quiet any longer. There’s an anger coursing through him unlike nothing he’s ever experienced before, and Matty would never, ever hit a girl, but this Harley cunt sounds like she fucking deserves a smack in the face.

‘How long ago? Does she still live around here? What the actual fuck? How can anyone hurt George like that?’ The questions spill unfiltered, and Ross and Adam are looking at him sadly. Frustrated, angry tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes. The thought of George saving up to give the girl he loves the wedding he thinks she deserves, only to have her fuck him over like that makes Matty feel sick to his stomach. He wants to go to George, hold him, tell him how loved and special he is, and fuck any girl that doesn’t see that.

_She doesn’t deserve you, you’re so lovely._

‘Over a year ago now, she’s long gone,’ Adam explains. ‘George quit his job, we didn’t hear from him for weeks, then he randomly shows up at my house one morning, it was early and I was in the middle of feeding Liam, and he just shows up and tells me he’s taken all his wedding savings and he’s put down a deposit on a fucking farm!’

Matty’s head is spinning, and it’s not just from the booze. There’s so much to take in, and he’s having trouble processing everything.

‘Do— do you still see him?’ Matty asks, his voice small, and he’s surprised they can hear him over the din of the pub.

‘Every month or so,’ Ross sighs, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘Sometimes we go to his farm and get high, he seems to be looking after himself okay, but he’s so fucking sad, Matty, and we don’t know how to fix it. We think— when you left, you broke him, and then Harley leaving him was just the final nail in the coffin.’ 

Matty stares down at his lap, a few tears escaping down his cheeks, three words echoing in his head on a loop,

_You broke him, You broke him. You broke him._

He looks up then, his resolve hardening. He knows what he’s got to do. 

‘Well then,’ Matty says, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and quell the tears. ‘If I broke George, then I need to fix him.’

Ross and Adam just smile at him sadly.

**

It’s late when Matty gets home. Adam had left them early after they all exchanged numbers, and he and Ross had stayed on drinking until last orders. Matty is quite impressed that he managed to stumble home in the dark, but he chalks it down to muscle memory rather than any real skill on his part.

Matty closes the front door as quietly as he can, seeing as it’s gone midnight, takes off his shoes and pads slowly to the kitchen with the executive plan to down a glass of water and then collapse into bed. However, the kitchen light is on, and Matty startles when he sees Louis sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, and a slice of toast in his hand. 

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Louis mumbles around a mouthful of toast. He looks annoyed in that way that teenage boys often do. Perpetually unimpressed by everyone and everything. 

‘Yeah, sorry. Didn’t think anyone would still be up.’

Louis just shrugs, finishes his slice of toast, and takes a sip of tea, eyes glancing at Matty occasionally as Matty pours himself a glass of water, drinking it all down in one go.

‘Are you drunk?’

‘Not really,’ Matty shrugs. ‘Why do you care if I am or not?’

Louis shrugs again. ‘Don’t want you coming back here and fucking everything up.’

Matty sighs and rubs a hand over his face, going to sit down next to Louis at the table. Maybe now is a good time to try and talk to him, he’s not left to go upstairs which is a good sign at least.

‘I’m not here to fuck everything up,’ Matty starts to explain, taking the opportunity to look at his brother properly. ‘Quite the opposite, actually.’

Louis’ face is hard.

‘Mum and dad were a mess when you left. It was such a shitty thing to do.’

‘I know, and I’m really, really sorry. I’m trying to make amends, I promise. I don’t expect you to forgive me immediately, but please, give me a chance, yeah?’

Louis just sips his tea and looks at the table, his expression still set hard.

‘I’ve never been a great brother, I know that,’ Matty sighs. ‘Maybe it’s too late for us to have that kind of relationship. I dunno, but I’d like to be your friend. If you want that?’

‘If you’re still here in a week then we’ll see,’ Louis says after a long silence. He picks up his mug, finishes his tea, and puts his dirty things in the sink. 

Matty stands then, and as Louis goes past him to go upstairs, Matty grabs him by the arm, and pulls him into a tight hug, pressing his face into the warm, soft material of Louis’ hoodie. Louis lets Matty hug him, his arms hanging awkwardly by his side for a few moments, until he tentatively brings them up to wrap around Matty in return, holding onto him tightly.

They stay like that for maybe a minute before Louis pulls away, looking a little awkward. There’s a flush of pink on his cheeks, and he turns quickly, making to go upstairs. 

‘Night, Lou,’ he says gently, and Louis doesn’t turn, but he pauses in the doorway for a second.

‘Night, Matty.’ 

It’s quiet, but it means everything. Matty smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in less than a week, what the fuck is going on? Why am I being so productive?! 
> 
> Anyway, yes! George makes an appearance at last!
> 
> Please enjoy, I love every single person who reads my stuff, and your comments usually make me cry so 🥺 thank you thank you thank you!

_They’re in the back of George’s car. The heat of the July summer night permeates everything as Matty desperately climbs into George’s lap._

_Everything is so hot; hot skin, hot mouths, hot breath, and George’s hands are all over him, claiming him, and making him breathless, and wanton, needy for George like he’s never been needy before._

_They shouldn’t be doing this, they both have girlfriends, but the magnetic pull between them is too strong. Whenever they’re alone, always bubbling away under the surface, an undercurrent of need that’s only worsening the older they get. They’re not kids anymore, they should know better, they’re old enough to know better, but it doesn’t stop them. They drove out this way especially for this, just for a touch, a kiss, a broken moan, nothing but hands, mouths, sweat, and skin._

_Matty licks a bead of sweat from George’s neck, making the younger man shiver, and tighten his grip, fingertips digging into Matty’s thighs so tightly it’s like he’s afraid that Matty will disappear if he lets go for even a second._

_‘Want you,’ George moans, head tipped back against the headrest._

_‘You’ve got me, I’m here,’ Matty pants, fingers now stroking over the newly shaved sides of George’s head._

_‘No— I mean… I want you. I want to be inside you.’_

_I want to be inside you._

_Matty should think about this. He should tell himself that this is a bad idea. The worst idea, because once they do this, there’s no turning back. It’s been building up to this for years, since that day in Matty’s bedroom when he'd kissed his best friend just to see him smile._

_This is a terrible idea, but he wants it. Matty wants to be as close to George as you can possibly be to another person._

_He cups George’s face in his hands and whispers, ‘okay.’_

**

Matty wakes up hard, breathless, and deeply unsettled, with his cock trapped achingly against the mattress. He glances over at his clock, groans when he sees that it’s nearly midday, then rolls over onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, willing his erection to go away; but it’s persistent, tenting the front of his pj pants. Matty sighs.

Something in Matty’s chest aches, tugs, and pulls because he’s going to see George today. He’s going to try and apologise, and if he thought he was scared yesterday going to see Adam, that’s nothing compared to how he feels about seeing George.

It’s obvious to Matty that the dream is only really a by-product of his subconscious awareness that he’s going to confront George today. He hasn’t thought about that night in years, the one and only time he and George were ever properly together. A few months before he left for London. It had been hot, it had been messy, and a little clumsy, but it had also been perfect. George had cried afterwards, when they’d been smoking, propped up against the side of George’s car, he’d pretended that it was just the smoke in his eyes, but Matty had always suspected otherwise.

The longer Matty lays there, listening to the comforting silence of the house, the more it becomes apparent that his persistent cock is not going to calm down anytime soon. What with being dumped, kicked out, moving back home, and seeing his friends, he hasn’t exactly had time to take care of anything in that department, and his body is letting that fact be known quite urgently. He squeezes himself through his pjs, closes his eyes, and tries his best to think about anything but George. A nice pair of tits, a hot wet, mouth around his cock, anything but but fucking _George_.

Matty hasn’t got any lube, he even rummages around in the drawer of his nightstand to see if there’s any left from the last time he lived at home, but no dice. He tugs his pj bottoms down, and spits into his hand, wrapping a hand around himself quickly. Feeling weirdly ashamed to be doing this in his old bedroom, he tugs on his cock, biting down on his bottom lip to stop the moans from spilling out, because even though the house sounds silent, he can’t be too sure.

He thinks about some nameless, generic face in the crowd; a pretty girl with long legs, a pretty boy with dark eyes, but it doesn’t work, his heart isn’t in it. Matty never normally needs such a vivid mental picture to get off, but it’s like his cock is fixated on George, because the moment he thinks about him, how his hands felt, what he tasted like, Matty can feel the tightening in the pit of his stomach, the warmth flooding through him, spreading outwards, making him flushed, and hot all over.

It’s been so long since Matty has had a really _good_ fuck. Oliver was fine, but he wasn’t a top, so it’s been almost a year since he’s been fucked good and proper, and now he’s thinking about it, his body feels electric with need. If he had lube he’d have two fingers buried inside himself, desperately rocking on them while he stroked himself off, but he doesn’t so he just spreads his legs subconsciously, and speeds his hand up, panting, imagining George all over him, inside him…

_I want to be inside you._

Matty cums with a quiet cry, spilling heavily over his fist, a sense of shame filling him up once he’s come down from his orgasm.

A sick feeling settles in the pit of his stomach as he cleans up, and when he showers, he scrubs hard at his skin, like he wants to wash away the shame of what he’s done. Because that’s not the point of today, he’s going to George to apologise, to atone for being the worst possible friend, and to hopefully begin to repair their relationship. Even if they can’t be how they used to be, just to have George back in his life will be enough.

Ross had given Matty directions to George’s farm the previous night, and he’s relieved that it’s only about a mile out of town, not far to walk, and the sun is shining again which is a godsend because Matty would really rather not show up on George’s doorstep a disheveled mess.

Matty dresses in his best jeans (the ones with no holes), his only button down shirt, and his leather jacket, feeling a little stupid about making all this effort just to go to a farm of all places. But this is all for George, he wants to make an effort for George because he’s special.

Despite the butterflies in his stomach, Matty just about manages a slice of toast and half a cup of coffee. His mum comes into the kitchen just as he’s finishing with his breakfast, and her eyes light up when he tells her of his plan, and how well his meeting with Adam and Ross went the day before.

‘Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart,’ she says gently, pulling him into a hug. She never used to be this huggy, but given the nature of his return, Matty understands why she’s doing it. He hugs her back tightly.

‘I’m really fucking scared,’ he admits as he pulls away, running his fingers through his hair; a nervous habit he acquired when he was aching for a fix, and one that hasn’t quite left him even though he’s been clean for over two years.

‘It’s just George,’ Denise says reassuringly, patting his arm. ‘It went well with Ross and Adam, no reason why George should be any different.’

Matty just ‘hmms’ to himself, because while mums are annoyingly correct about most things, he thinks she may be wrong this time, especially given what Ross and Adam told him yesterday.

‘Be back later if George doesn’t put me in A&E… or murder me and bury me on his bloody farm,’ Matty says, fishing his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket.

‘Don’t be melodramatic,’ Denise laughs. ‘You’ll be fine. See you later, sweetheart.’

**

Matty smokes as he walks, the nicotine coursing through his body helping him to relax just a little bit. He keeps trying to tell himself that the worst that can happen is that George will shout at him, and tell him to fuck off (which he fully deserves). But he’s terrified that all the words are going to come out wrong, or, worse than that, he’ll see George and just forget how to speak all together. Deep down he knows that this is going to be harder than apologising to Ross and Adam, he knows the hurt he caused runs deeper in George than even he can really fully understand, but maybe it’s not too late. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, it’s a text from Ross.

 **Ross:** good luck mate!

 **Matty:** I think I might need it x

To distract himself from the impending doom of his meeting with George, Matty takes in his surroundings, and is surprised to find that it actually calms him. When he’d been younger he’d found the silence and the emptiness of the countryside so stultifying, he’d hated it. But now, with the weak winter sunshine bouncing off the frosty grass, Matty finds it beautiful. There’s so much green everywhere, and the air is crisp, clean, and it’s the furthest cry from London where everything is grey, dirty and crowded. It makes him feel somewhat hopeful.

However, Matty’s hope is dashed when he spies what must be George’s farm looming in the distance, and suddenly all he’s filled with his dread. He wants to run. He’s not ready for George’s angry words, because he _will_ be angry, there’s no doubt about that, and there is also absolutely no hope of George welcoming him back with open arms. 

Adam’s words from yesterday echo worryingly through his head.

_George would have punched your lights out already._

Somehow, he manages to keep walking, despite the lead weight in his stomach the closer he gets. This is all so strange and foreign, and _not George_. George should be in a music studio somewhere, in some big city, not stuck out in the middle of nowhere on a fucking farm, with nothing around him but fields and cow shit. Matty catches himself wondering if this is _the_ farm, the farm where George antagonised the chickens, and almost got them shot. All farms look the same as far as he’s concerned, but it definitely could be.

Matty’s heart is beating so fast he feels like he’s about to pass out, and he wonders vaguely if this is what a panic attack feels like? And if it is, then he’d really rather not have one of those when he’s about to confront his former best friend.

‘Don’t be a fucking pussy,’ Matty mutters to himself. It’s pretty rubbish as far as pep talks go, but it’s enough to force him to push open the gate, and cautiously walk into the main courtyard.

It’s empty as far as he can see. There’s a rusty looking jeep on one side of the courtyard, and Matty wishes he could rewind and tell George that one day he’d be a fucking jeep owner. George would never believe him in a million years. The main farmhouse looks old but well kept, there are potted plants under the windows, and a big dog bowl by the green, wooden front door.

The quiet of the place is eerie to say the least, and Matty feels like he’s in some weird zombie apocalypse movie where he’s the last remaining human in search of some sort of shelter. There’s an arched stone walkway that seems to lead out to where the fields are, and as there are no lights on in the house, this seems like Matty’s best bet right now.

A strong gust of wind sends Matty shivering, and he wraps his jacket around himself to shelter from the biter cold, making a mental note to buy himself a proper coat as soon as he gets a job, but after he gets his hair sorted out, because he has _priorities_ after all. He squints against the bright sunshine, casting his eyes out towards the fields. And at first he can’t see anything other than fields, dotted with a few grazing cows, and sheep, but then Matty spots him, and he freezes.

George is walking towards him, he’s got a box full of tools in his hand, but he’s not close enough for Matty to be able to see the expression on his face, but it’s clearly George. His stomach does a flip because despite the cold weather, George is wearing nothing but a t-shirt, and Matty is reminded with stark clarity that George always did used to run hot. He was always like a radiator. Some things truly never change.

The closer George gets, the more Matty can make out; his hair is longer, tied up in a bun, and he’s filled out a lot more, he’s taller, and broader, probably due to working on the farm. Matty pushes away his thoughts of this morning, tries not to think about what George could do with those strong arms. _Fuck_ , he’s so beautiful, but his eyes look so painfully sad that it makes Matty want to fling his arms around him, and hold him until that haunted, sad look leaves his face for good.

Matty is about to speak, but George doesn’t even give him a chance to open his mouth.

‘Adam told me you were back.’

Matty is about to curse Adam for being a snitch, but upon second thought Matty thinks it’s probably a good idea that he didn’t completely spring his presence on George.

‘Yeah. Got back a few days ago.’

George is looking at him unreadably, but he nods and pushes past Matty to head towards the house, the box of tools straining the muscles in his arms, and Matty can see that George’s knuckles are white from the strain of holding on so tightly, or in an effort not to puch Matty in the face.

‘I… I came to apologise, George,’ Matty stammers out, the words getting stuck in his throat as another cold gust of wind hits him, and causes George to stop in his tracks, and turn around to face him again, lowering his tool box to the ground. 

‘Bit fucking late for that, don’t you think?’ George mutters, and Matty blanches because the look on George’s face now is so cold. He looks hollowed out, and empty inside, and Matty feels sick to his stomach. This was a mistake, a big fucking mistake. He wants to rewind, go back, stay. He should have never fucking left, he wouldn’t have left if he’d known that these would be the repercussions for his actions. George looking at him like this. It hurts. It fucking hurts like nothing else before. The need to try and fix things is almost overwhelming, but it feels gargantuan with George looking at him like that, so vacant and despondent.

He looks pleadingly at George this time, not caring about the pathetic image he’s giving off right now, virtually begging George to give him something, absolutely anything just to prove that his journey here hasn’t been for nothing.

‘George, I--’

‘No. Fuck off. You do _not_ get to come back here after seven years of fucking nothing, and demand any sort of forgiveness from me,’ George grits out, like the words are actually painful. ‘You’re a fucking arsehole, and if you think I’m going to be as fucking soft as Ross or Adam then you’re wrong.’

‘Please, George. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, just let me--’

‘I don’t want to fucking hear it, Matty!’ George says, his voice louder now, and dripping with anger, and oh _god_ it hurts to hear George say his name like that with such affliction.

Matty’s bottom lip trembles. He knows he deserves all of this, he deserves so much fucking worse than this, but he can’t bare it at the same time. He takes a step towards George once more, ready to try again, desperate to get George to just stop and listen to him, but then George’s fist is connecting with his nose, and everything seems to move in slow motion.

George drops his fist down by his side then, but Matty doesn’t miss the momentary look of panic on his face before it twists back into anger. There’s blood trickling down his face, dripping into his mouth, the coppery taste coating his tongue, and making him feel queasy.

‘George--’ Matty says thickly, through the blood, not even attempting now to stop the tears, arisen partly from the pain, but mainly because he thinks that this is utterly irreparable. There’s no coming back from this, George doesn’t want to know, and he should have never have come.

George picks up his toolbox, face cold as anything once again.

‘Please don’t come back here. I don’t care what you have to say anymore. It’s too late. Have a nice fucking life, Matty.’

And with that, he turns and goes inside, leaving Matty to bleed and cry in the harsh winter sunlight.

**

Matty doesn’t even remember how he gets there, but at some point he must have texted Ross to ask for his address, because that’s how he ends up on Ross’ doorstep, blood all over his face, and shirt, and a bottle of tequila in his trembling hands.

He watches as Ross’ face falls, everything that happened completely evident on Matty’s bruised, and bloody face.

‘Oh, mate,’ Ross says softly, pulling Matty into a tight hug, not caring if he gets Matty’s blood all over him.

They stand there, on the doorstep while Matty cries, and cries, and cries, and Ross just holds him while Matty’s world collapses around him once again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big old update hello, nearly 5K words! Thank you to everyone who has been so lovely and supportive, and left a comment or kudos <3 I love you all so very much <3

Consciousness returns to Matty painfully. His head hurts, his nose hurts, his back hurts, and it takes him a few seconds of blinking through the fug of his hangover to remember where he is.

Matty looks around Ross’ living room as best he can from his vantage point laying down, and groans. There’s an empty bottle of tequila, and several empty cans of beer on the coffee table, complete with leftover Chinese takeaway boxes. His stomach lurches alarmingly, and he tries his best to breathe through the wave of nausea, even though Ross has kindly left a big plastic bowl next to the sofa, indicating that Matty must have been in a pretty bad way last night. 

After crying for what felt like an eternity on Ross’ doorstep, Ross had ushered Matty inside, and proceeded to clean up Matty’s bloody nose. And Matty, despondent and teary, had just let him. He had gone easily when Ross had coaxed him into some clothes that were way too big for him, but at least they weren’t covered in blood, and had sat on the sofa feeling very sorry for himself while Ross had a hushed but urgent phone call to Adam telling him what happened. As it turned out, Adam had been spending the day with his in-laws, and so therefore he and Ross had proceeded to order Chinese food and get absolutely smashed.

Matty groans as he slowly sits up, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. Five texts from his mum, each one growing in urgency until the final ones simply says, _I swear to god Matthew, you better not be dead. TEXT ME!_ He taps out a quick text to let her know he’s alive before collapsing back down onto the sofa with a groan. The room spins alarmingly, and before he can scramble to his feet to find a toilet, he’s throwing up violently in the bowl that Ross kindly left by the sofa.

Ross chooses this very convenient moment to make his appearance, looking irritatingly fresh faced, which Matty notices when he looks up at him with wet eyes, feeling very sorry for himself indeed.

‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ Ross teases.

Matty takes a few moments to answer, wanting to make sure that he’s not going to throw up again if he opens his mouth.

‘Fuck you,’ he rasps, but then Ross places a glass of water and two paracetamol on the table, and Matty feels instantly guilty.

‘I take back the fuck you, can I replace it with a thank you?’ Matty asks, swallowing the pills down quickly, and gulping down half the glass of water in one go, his dehydrated body craving it desperately.

‘Your rudeness is forgiven,’ Ross laughs, sitting down on the arm of the sofa, surveying matty. ‘You look like crap.’

‘How _don’t_ you look like crap?’ Matty grumbles, rubbing at his face but carefully avoiding his sore nose.

‘Downed a pint of water before I went to bed. Told you to have one too but you told me that water is for pussies and just opened another beer, so I left you to it,’ Ross says with a shrug, a smug look on his face. ‘I did tell you though.’

‘I’m really not in the mood for your smugness right now,’ Matty pouts, collapsing back on the sofa and groaning.

‘Adam should be here soon,’ Ross says conversationally. ‘Apparently he’s bringing croissants.’

‘Of course Adam’s bringing croissants,’ Matty snorts, eyes trained on the ceiling, a grin spreading on his face despite still feeling forlorn and sorry for himself. ‘Nothing says ‘hangover cure’ quite like fucking _croissants_.’

‘Homemade apparently… not by Adam I might add, that man is fucking useless in the kitchen, but Grace is great,’ Ross smiles. ‘Sure you’ll get to meet her soon.’

‘Remember how shy he used to get around girls?’ Matty giggles, sitting up slowly to take another drink of water, begging for the painkillers to kick in soon.

‘Oh, he’s still like that,’ Ross grins. ‘He’s just managed to find a girl who likes that rather than finding it stupid... They’re quite disgustingly cute actually, and Liam is adorable. He calls me Woss!’

There’s a knock at the front door then, and as Ross goes to answer it, Matty staggers towards the bathroom with the dirty bowl, repressing the urge to gag again as he tips the contents down the toilet. He rinses it in the sink, but groans when he catches a glimpse of his reflection. There’s a dark bruise on his face underneath his right eye, and even though Ross cleaned up the blood last night, his nose is still crusted with it. He looks pale, and there are dark rings under his eyes; he looks like a complete wreck, so he splashes some cold water on his face, and dries himself off on the hand towel. What he really wants more than anything is a shower, but Adam has come over especially with breakfast, and it would be rude to pass up the offer of free food, especially homemade free food. 

When Matty makes his way back to the living room, his heart warms. Adam is leaning against the kitchen table with a tupperware box full of croissants, and three takeaway coffees in a holder. He offers Matty a kind smile when he sees him, placing everything down on the counter.

‘Hey, mate. I bought breakfast. Sounded like you needed it.’

‘Fucking love you, Adam,’ he mumbles, and then, rather embarrassingly, he’s crying all over again. He shuffles forwards until Adam has his arms wrapped around him tightly. His hugs aren’t as warm and all consuming as Ross’, but he’s comforting and he holds Matty close, and Matty is undeniably soothed by his presence.

Matty is not a religious man, far from it, but he thanks anyone that may be listening for Ross and Adam, they’re so good to him, and he doesn’t deserve it. And he’s only now really coming to the realisation that he’s not sure what he’d have done if all of them had reacted the way that George did.

‘Love you too, Matty,’ Adam says gently, and then he feels the weight of Ross against his back, and he lets himself be consumed by the warmth of his friends. He buries his face in Adam’s shoulder, ignoring the pain that blooms across his face from the pressure. Adam smells warm, and clean, and Matty tries to push aside the fact that he probably smells less than fresh given that he was throwing up less than ten minutes earlier.

They eventually break free from the hug, and Matty carefully wipes at his eyes, making a vow to himself to go at least one day without crying at some point, because it’s starting to become a little bit of a habit.

‘I also love you, even though you threw up in my washing up bowl, and drank all my beer,’ Ross says with a shrug.

‘Love you too, Ross,’ Matty smiles, ignoring Ross’ ever-present sarcasm, and Ross presses a kiss to the side of Matty’s aching head.

‘So,’ Adam pipes up from the kitchen, ‘To continue on from our nice, manly hug - who wants a croissant?’

**

‘George will come round, I know he will,’ Adam says reassuringly, patting Matty on the knee from across the console of his car.

Adam had offered to give Matty a lift home, which Matty initially declined, not wanting to feel like a leech, but he’s glad he eventually took Adam up on because it’s fucking freezing outside, and the grey sky is threatening snow. Adam has the heating blasting in the car, and Matty savours it, glancing up at the house from where Adam is parked in the driveway. There are no cars anywhere, so Matty assumes everyone must be out.

‘I dunno, man,’ Matty sighs, turning to face Adam again. ‘You didn’t see the look on his face… it was fucking terrifying, and also this…’ he trails off, indicating at his own bruised face. 

‘Yeah… I was actually joking when I said George would punch your lights out, genuinely didn’t think he had that in him,’ Adam says, and he looks guilty, like it’s his fault that George smacked him one. ‘I’m also sorry I told George you were back, when you told us you were going to try and speak to him, I thought it was best you didn’t take George completely by surprise…’

‘It’s alright, thanks, I don’t think having the true element of surprise would have lessened my chances of getting a smack, quite frankly,’ Matty laughs, but it’s bitter, and his face twinges like a cruel reminder.

Adam gives him a sad smile, and squeezes his leg again. 

‘You gonna be okay?’

Adam always was a worrier.

‘I’ll be fine, I’m just gonna go and have a shower, and sleep off this hangover. I’ll speak to you soon, yeah? Oh, and tell Grace her croissants are to die for.’

‘I’ll tell her,’ Adam grins, and then pulls Matty into an awkward hug. ‘Maybe you can come over and meet her, and Liam one day?’

‘I would love that, though I warn you, I’m utterly shite with babies,’ Matty laughs, thinking back to when Louis was a baby, and how he’d avoided him like the plague until he was about five years old.

‘That’s what Ross said,’ Adam laughs. ‘But he’s almost a natural with him now… don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask you to babysit or anything like that, not that I wouldn’t love to watch you and Ross try and look after him for a day! But seriously, just pop round and say hi. He’s really into people’s hair at the moment, and yours is very yellow.’

‘Is that why yours is so short at the moment?’ Matty grins, deciding to ignore the dig about his hair. Adam winks at him. 

‘No sticky toddler hands in my hair, thank you very much.’

‘Smart man.’

‘It’s why I’m a teacher,’ Adam laughs, tapping the side of his temple with one finger. ‘Genius brain.’

‘Just because you have a degree doesn’t mean you know shit.’

‘Careful, or I’ll rescind your croissant privileges.’

‘I’ve already been punched in the face, and thrown up this morning. Be nice, yeah?’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Adam laughs. ‘Right, now go home and shower, you smell terrible, and you should probably get some ice on that bruise.’

‘Okay, mum.’

**

The hot water cascading over Matty’s body feels like heaven. It’s like he can physically feel the events of the last twenty-four hours washing down the drain along with the soap and water. He’s still hungover as all hell. Long gone are the days where he could drink himself into oblivion, then still be able to get up and go to work the next day. And to top it all off, his head and nose still ache, and he’s exhausted, but feeling clean helps inordinately. It doesn’t dull the ache in his chest though, and Matty thinks he’s going to be haunted by the dead look in George’s eyes for the rest of his life. Maybe that’s his real punishment, not the punch to the face, but the memory of seeing George look at him like he was worth less than nothing.

He knows Louis is home, he could hear music and laughter coming from his bedroom when he’d come up the stairs, but he’d luckily been able to avoid him, dashing into his room before he could be confronted about why he’s wearing clothes at least two sizes too big for him, (his own blood covered clothes in a plastic carrier bag), and why he has a massive shiner on his face. He just doesn’t want to have that conversation at the moment, Louis already thinks he’s a fuck up, best not add to that image by showing up looking like he’s gone a round with fucking Mike Tyson.

Matty washes his hair, taking his time, loathe to leave the warm, safe confines of the bathroom. He doesn’t want to face anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he just wants to wallow in self-pity for a little bit, and then maybe sleep for a good twelve hours. He dries quickly, wrapping a towel around his sopping wet hair as he rummages in his wardrobe for something comfy to wear. He grabs an old pair of joggers, and he’s about to reach for a baggy shirt to throw on, when he spies something pushed almost to the back, a hint of green checkered material. Fingers trembling, he reaches for it, pulling on the sleeve and disrupting the haphazard pile of clothes in the process.

It’s an old, worn white and green check shirt. George’s old, worn white and green check shirt to be precise. Matty always stole it because it was big, and baggy, and it smelt of George, and when Matty presses his face to it now, it _still_ smells of George after all these years. The shirt is still way too big for him as he pulls it on, he doesn’t even bother to button it up, he just wraps it around him as he sits down on the edge of his bed and cries, head in his hands, not even giving a second thought to how loud he’s being. Loud, gasping sobs. Everything hurts. Matty’s anger, and sadness are persistent, demanding to be felt, and Matty feels like his chest is caving in, it feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of everything, and when he closes his eyes, all he can see is George’s cold, vacant expression.

A quiet knock.

‘Matty?’ Louis’s voice is hesitant and quiet, but just about audible through the door.

‘One sec,’ Matty calls out, trying to disguise the fact that his voice is thick with tears. What he really wants is to tell Louis to fuck off, but ultimately doesn’t think that’ll go down well seeing as he wants to bond with his brother, not push him further away. 

The door is pushed open slowly, and Louis peers his head through the gap, his brow furrowed, and Matty can’t believe how much his (not so) little brother looks like him. Matty watches Louis’ eyes widen as he obviously clocks Matty’s bruised, teary face.

‘What the fuck happened to your face?!’

Matty shakes his head, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of George’s shirt while Louis slowly ventures into his room, closing the door behind him.

‘Seriously? Did you get into a fight? Fuck sake, Matty. You’ve only been back a few days,’ Louis sighs, his arms folded across his chest. This causes Matty to scowl. He doesn’t appreciate being patronised by his younger brother, but he’s too tired to argue.

‘Didn’t get into a fight,’ Matty mutters, eyes cast down, his headache increasing in intensity after his outburst of tears. 

Matty feels the bed dip down as Louis sits down next to him. He can feel that Louis’ demeanour has changed without even looking at him.

‘Who hit you then?’ Louis asks quietly.

Matty’s eyes burn with tears once more.

‘I went to see George, to apologise… he didn’t take it very well.’ 

‘George did this?’ Louis asks, surprise apparent in his voice, and Matty looks up as he nods, a few tears escaping down his face. 

‘He’s a big guy, but I can’t imagine George punching anyone.’

‘That’s what I thought, right up until he punched me in the face and made me bleed all over my best shirt.’

Louis looks hesitant then, but he slowly wraps an arm around Matty’s shoulder, and gives him a slightly awkward squeeze, obviously sensing that Matty needs comforting more than he wants to let on.

‘You probably just caught him off guard. Maybe he just needs some time?’ Louis suggests, and despite the tears, Matty rolls his eyes.

‘No. Stop. I’m not taking realistic, logical advice from my seventeen year old brother. When I was your age I was off my face most of the time, and shagging the rest of it.’

‘Yeah? Well you scared Gina away with your violent sobbing, so fat chance of me getting a shag while you’re being all mopey!’ Louis snorts.

‘Is Gina your girlfriend?’ Matty asks, a smile creeping onto his face despite everything, and he nudges Louis lightly in the ribs.

‘Yeah,’ Louis says, a faint blush creeping up his face. ‘We only got together last month, so mum and dad don’t know yet, and if you tell them I will kill you.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me. Snitches get stitches.’

Louis is silent then, his bottom lip worried between his teeth, and Matty feels him take a deep breath before he speaks.

‘I really missed you when you went away, but I’m really glad you’re back, and I’m sorry I was rude to you.’

The words come out in one big rush, and Matty’s heart aches, because he can tell it took a lot for Louis to admit that. He sees a glimmer of hope in Louis’ admission, so he leans over and gives his brother’s knee a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

‘I’m sorry I left. I was a fucking idiot, and being back here has made me realise that leaving was the biggest mistake I could have made,’ Matty sighs. ‘I was young, and stupid, but I’m back now, and I’m trying to put things right, I really am…’ he trails off, then indicates at his face, a small, wet smile on his face. ‘With varying degrees of success, as you can see.’

‘You should try again with George,’ Louis pipes up when Matty’s finishes speaking. ‘Go and try and properly talk to him like you have to me… but maybe don’t get too close just in case he tries to swing at you again! Maybe you just scared him and he panicked?’

‘He didn’t look scared, Louis, he looked furious.’

‘It can’t hurt though!’ Louis insists. ‘When I was a kid, George was always here, he was like a member of the family, and it just feels fucking _wrong_ for you to just give up on him so easily, you know what I mean?’

Matty just ‘hmms’ quietly, and doesn’t try to argue this time, because maybe Louis just might have a point after all.

**

Over the next couple of days Matty spends much of his time with Louis, making good on his promise to try and fix things. They kick a football around, go for sneaky cigarette breaks when their parents aren’t home, and just generally get to know each other again. He tells Louis about his life in London, the bands he was in, the hustle and bustle of city life, about his multiple failed relationships with men and women, and ultimately about Oliver, and how he finally found his way back to Wilmslow.

Matty is enjoying spending time with Louis, mostly because it feels good to be making amends, but he’s also glad to have a distraction from thinking about George. 

‘So you’re bisexual then?’ Louis asks one day when they’re sharing a cigarette outside while Denise went to the supermarket, they’re huddled under the big tree in the garden to protect from the grey January drizzle.

Matty just shrugs. ‘I guess so… I’ve never really put a label on it really. I just… go for whoever I fancy, gender or whatever doesn’t matter to me that much.’

Louis is quiet, exhaling smoke slowly up into the cloudy, saturated sky.

‘Did you and George used to be a couple?’ He asks finally, tentatively.

Matty swallows, his mouth dry with smoke.

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘I saw you together once,’ Louis admits. ‘You were both standing where we are now. It was late and I couldn’t sleep so I’d come downstairs to get some water, I could only just about make out that it was you… but you were on your knees in front of him, I had no idea what you were doing, I was like nine or something…’ Louis trails off, obviously embarrassed. 

Matty flushes hot all over, ashamed that Louis had to witness something like that so young. He can actually remember the time Louis is talking about. Matty’s throat full of George’s cock, the damp grass soaking the knees of his jeans, the smell of summer rain...

‘We were never a couple,’ Matty explains awkwardly. ‘We— uh… I guess we had like a friends with benefits thing. From like the age of sixteen or something, we’d fuck around a lot. George ended it just before I left.’

‘Maybe he was in love with you?’ Louis suggests.

Matty can’t help but snort. 

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Not being daft. Maybe the reason he’s so pissed that you left because you broke his heart. My best mate had this friends with benefits thing with a girl, but he had to end it because he started to properly like her, and she wasn’t into him like that.’

Ross’ words echo in his head. _You broke him._

Matty shakes his head, annoyed at his younger brother’s apparently very astute wisdom. And he tries to dispel the sick feeling in his stomach as he stubs his cigarette out on the tree.

‘C’mon, mum’ll be back soon, and I can’t feel my fucking fingers.’

**

Louis’s words make anxiety, and _something_ else twist in his stomach over the upcoming days. They don’t leave him alone, which is how he ends up on George’s doorstep one evening after two glasses of red wine for dutch courage. He doesn’t even tell anyone that he’s going to see George, he wants the element of surprise, because Matty gets the impression that George had fully prepared every word he’d said to Matty last time. Because despite what Louis said, Matty doesn’t think that he scared or surprised George in the slightest, there was nothing behind his eyes that gave Matty any indication of that at all, but Louis was correct in saying that he couldn’t leave it the way he did, George meant so much to him for such a long time, he deserves more. 

_Maybe he was in love with you._

Matty doesn’t bother dressing up this time, but he does wear George’s shirt, fully knowing that that decision may come back to bite him in the arse, but it doesn’t dissuade him, he hopes that maybe it might show George how serious he’s being about this. About him.

A cold gust of wind shakes Matty down to his bones as his trembling fingers come up to knock on the large wooden door. He’s nervous, the bruise on his face has only just started to fade, and he really isn’t interested in a repeat of last time. There’s a clunk and thud of a bolt being drawn across the latch, and then the door is being drawn back, and George appears in the doorway, face set in a hard line. The light from inside illuminates the dark courtyard, and it looks so warm and inviting inside that Matty is desperate to go inside just for a minute so he can warm up a little before George inevitably tells him to fuck off again.

‘Thought I told you to stay away,’ George sighs. He looks weary, hair tied up in a messy bun, bundled up in a baggy hoodie, and clutching a mug in his hand. Matty watches as George’s eyes move over his body, as if George is studying him, and he’s somewhat relieved to see that George doesn’t look angry, he just looks resigned.

‘You did… but I need to talk to you, George. Please, hear me out?’ It sounds pleading, and Matty hates that, but he doesn’t know what else to do. ‘Please, George.’

‘Fine,’ George says in a clipped tone, and then he’s standing back to let Matty in, and Matty vows to buy Louis all the cigarettes his heart could possibly desire, because if this works then Matty will be in his brother’s debt forever. 

The interior of George’s house is every single bit the picturesque farmhouse that Matty had been expecting. There’s a wood fire crackling, a large squishy leather sofa, and there are pictures on the walls, pictures of his family, pictures of him with Adam and Ross, but none of Matty. The room is large and open, there’s a dog bed in the corner, an acoustic guitar propped up against the wall, as if it’s recently been played, and there’s a big wooden kitchen table separating the living room from the kitchen. It looks cosy, homely, and lived in, and Matty aches for it.

George takes a sip from his mug before placing it on the table, leaning against it, and looking at Matty pointedly, as if he were saying, ‘go on then, explain yourself.’ He looks sad and defeated, the large hoodie diminishing his size drastically.

‘Thank you for letting me in,’ Matty starts, offering a small smile, his heart pounding against his ribs. ‘Look… last time didn’t go well, and I fully understand why you punched me, I deserve it. Adam and Ross are being way too nice to me given what I did to you all.’

George scoffs then, rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. 

‘I don’t expect us to be friends again, I know I fucked that up, but please, I just— I need you to know that I’m really sorry. I’m not talking out of my arse or trying to fucking con you or anything, I promise. I’m sorry, George, I’m really fucking sorry.’

Matty is trembling when he finishes speaking, he drops his eyes to the floor, finding it hard to stomach the way that George is looking at him. The silence drags on, and Matty can feel tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

‘Okay. You can fuck off now.’

George’s words jolt through Matty like electricity.

‘I can— what?’ 

‘You said what you wanted to say, so you can fuck off now. I told you last time, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’

Matty just stares at him, and for the first time since arriving back home, he feels hot bubbling anger rising to the surface, and he feels himself taking a step closer to George.

‘Fuck you, George,’ he mutters, looking George in the eye now, his fists balling down by his sides. ‘I’m here apologising to you, after you fucking _punched_ me last time, and all I get is a ‘fuck off’?’ Look, I get that you’re sad or whatever, Adam and Ross told me everything, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be a total cunt.’

George’s eyes flash dark, but Matty doesn’t miss the way that they drop to Matty’s lips when he’s speaking, and Matty’s stomach gives a lurch.

‘I have every right to tell you to get the fuck out of my house,’ George says, his voice measured and calm, not matching the turbulence in his eyes. ‘I told you not to come back. I don’t care about your apology or your excuses, I don’t care about _you_ anymore, Matty. Why fucking should I when you left me like that? I was so— fuck, please, just fuck off. I can’t have you here.’

‘Please, George,’ Matty pleads, he can sense the anguish in George’s words, and it’s so much better than the cold, vacant George of the other day. ‘Please, I’m so fucking sorry. I know I hurt you—‘

‘You broke my fucking heart, Matty,’ George grits out, but then he pauses, and blinks, his eyes resting on the collar of Matty’s shirt before raising to look at Matty again.

‘Is that my shirt?’

Matty nods, his stomach doing somersaults. He knew the fucking shirt was a mistake. 

_Maybe he was in love with you._

_You broke my fucking heart._

‘Are you taking the fucking piss, Matty?’

‘No, no, I— I just—‘

But then George’s strong, capable hands are fisted in Matty’s jacket and he’s being shoved back hard against the front door, his head smacking against the heavy wood. He holds Matty there, their faces close together, and Matty can feel George’s laboured breath against his lips.

‘You gonna hurt me, George?’ Matty swallows thickly. ‘Come on then, show me what a big tough guy you are, fuck me up, I know you want to…’

George’s fingers flex around his coat, and Matty can feel the hard, strong press of his body pinning him there, and he knows in that second that they’re either going to fight, or fuck.

‘Just shut up for once in your fucking life,’ George spits before shoving Matty hard, fists still clenched around his coat, and despite everything Matty can feel himself getting hard beneath the heat of George’s body. 

‘Make me.’

It’s a taunt, a red flag at a bull, because George never could say no to a challenge. 

And sure enough, George releases his grip on Matty’s jacket, only to grip the sides of his face, and crash their mouths together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna save this to post on Valentine's Day, but fuck it here we are a day early!
> 
> Thank you for everyone's comments, you're all amazing also I'm sorry for this chapter, I might go and hide now!
> 
> <3

Kissing George is like muscle memory. It doesn’t matter that it’s been seven years since they last did this, Matty hasn’t forgotten, and neither has George. George’s hands are warm on his face, and for a brief moment, Matty forgets that this kiss is borne out of anger. If he closes his eyes he could be eighteen again, high or drunk, or both, kissing in cars, in quiet corners at parties, giggling into each other’s mouths, nothing in their own little bubble but them. But he’s not eighteen, and no one is laughing, in fact, when George pulls away from their kiss he looks furious, and Matty mentally prepares himself for another smack.

‘This is why I didn’t want you here,’ George says quietly, but his voice is dripping with anger, and he grabs Matty’s jacket, shoving him back harder still. Matty’s head thuds dully against the door, and he grunts, pain blooming at the back of his skull.

‘Get the fuck off me,’ Matty spits, using his body weight to shove George away from him as best he can.

George goes to shove him again, but Matty is prepared this time, gripping hard onto the front of George’s hoodie, and suddenly they’re kissing once more. Matty can feel the desperation pouring off George in waves, and Matty is desperate too. He’s fucked countless people since he left, some of it was good, but mostly it all just paled in comparison because, despite them only having fucked just that one time, no one has this effect on him quite like George does.

The kiss is messy, it’s desperate, and there’s so much going on inside Matty’s head, he has so many questions, but he can’t even begin to process any of them. So he ignores them all in favour of opening his mouth to let George’s tongue slip inside. He tastes of tea, and George, it’s warm and familiar, and it shouldn’t feel like home, but it does.

An involuntary moan from Matty is what makes George jerk away from him then, but instead of looking angry, he looks so lost, and he’s looking at Matty in a way that makes Matty’s heart constrict painfully in his chest. 

‘George,’ Matty says gently, bringing a hand up as if to cup George’s cheek, but George pushes his hand away, and the angry look is back once more.

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ George mutters, but it seems like it’s directed more to himself than to Matty.

‘You kissed me!’ Matty says incredulously.

‘Oh come on,’ George scoffs. ‘You come over here wearing my fucking shirt, telling me how fucking sorry you are. Why did you come back? Are you trying to fucking torture me? God, I can’t fucking stand you, Matty.’

Matty is about to protest, but then he glances down, and is surprised to see the hard outline of George’s cock through the material of his joggers. It ignites something in Matty then, deciding that if this is how George wants to play things then he can give as good as he gets. George never backs down from a challenge, but neither does Matty. 

‘Yeah, sure looks like it,’ Matty smirks, letting his eyes finally move up from George’s erection to meet his eyes. He’s half hard in his own boxers, and his lips are still tingling from the feeling of George’s lips against his own.

‘Take it off,’ George says quietly after a few beats of heavy silence.

Matty blinks but doesn’t move.

‘Take what off?’

‘Take my _fucking_ shirt off! George shouts, and a thrill of excitement goes through Matty like a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

He had a short lived relationship once with a guy called Emmett who was really into BDSM, so Matty is no stranger to being yelled at and slapped around a bit, but the difference here is that George is genuinely angry. This is not a scene, but he definitely has a pavlovian response to being shouted at, especially when George is fucking _hard_. 

Matty’s eyes don’t leave George’s as he slowly takes off his jacket, draping it over the arm of the nearby chair before his shaky fingers get to work on the shirt buttons. He’s glad he wore a t-shirt underneath because if George wants his shirt back, Matty doesn’t really want to walk home with just his old leather jacket keeping him warm. He lets the shirt fall to the floor, the thud of the material sounding loud, and George’s stare is so intense that it almost makes Matty want to hide. George’s eyes move over his body slowly; he’s got some new tattoos since the last time George saw him like this, and he’s sure George has too. Goosebumps erupt over his skin despite the fact that the room is warm from the fire; he swallows. George’s eyes follow the movement of his Adam’s apple then move down to his obvious cock tenting at the material of his joggers.

‘You haven’t changed,’ George murmurs, and it’s like he’s lost in a trance until he moves suddenly, and then Matty is being shoved back once again.

This time he moans when his head hits the door, and George has a strong hand cupping his jaw, holding him firmly in place. Matty knows that he should be somewhat scared given the look in George’s eye, but he’s so turned on he feels dizzy, and he knows deep down, on some subconscious level that George would never hurt him, not really.

‘You have,’ Matty breathes as George brings his free hand down to slowly rub at Matty’s cock. 

It’s been such a long time since Matty has had anyone take control like this, as Oliver had been exclusively a bottom, and _fuck_ , Matty has missed someone else being in charge.

‘Of course I’ve fucking changed,’ George spits, squeezing Matty now. ‘You leaving changed me.’

‘Bet you still fuck like you used to.’

Matty knows those words are risky, but really he just wants George to get on with it already, and if George needs goading, then Matty is more than happy to oblige.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ George says, and his voice is so low, pressed so close to Matty that he swears he can feel the vibrations in George’s throat against his overheating skin. 

Matty shivers and closes his eyes, focuses on all the points of contact, George’s hand gripping his face, his lips near his ear, the hard line of George’s cock pressed up against his thigh, and his hand slowly rubbing almost torturously at Matty’s own aching cock. He starts to give into the pleasure then, pushing his hips towards George’s touch, moaning at the friction.

‘You always did know how to make me feel so good,’ Matty breathes, allowing his eyes to open now, gazing up into George’s dark stare. 

George doesn’t say anything, and suddenly Matty doesn’t want to break the intense silence between them, he can just feel the warm puffs of George’s breath against his lips. It’s like George is in a trance once again, and Matty is desperate for more friction, so, without breaking eye contact with George, he reaches down between their bodies, brushing George’s cock as he goes, then wrapping his fingers gently around George’s wrist, going to guide his hand to the waistband of his joggers.

‘Touch me properly, yeah? Want your hand wrapped around my cock so fucking bad, G,’ Matty murmurs.

The nickname slips out on autopilot, Matty only really ever used to use it when they were together like this, and in response, George always used to call him ‘baby’.

‘You don’t get to call me that anymore,’ George hisses, broken out of his trance, and before Matty has a chance to reply, George has him manhandled and he’s being shoved over the edge of the hard kitchen table.

Matty groans, half with pleasure, half with pain when his still-not-quite-healed face smacks against the wood. He shivers from the contact of the cool surface on his bare, flushed skin, and his cock aches desperately. Of all the ways this evening could have played out, this wasn’t even on the fucking list of possibilities!

George’s hands are hot on his skin, leaving burning trails as they drag down Matty’s back to finally settle on his hips. He grips them tightly and tugs Matty back a fraction so that Matty can feel George’s hard cock nudged up against the cleft of his arse through the layers of material.

Matty hasn’t had anything inside him for a good few weeks, and it’s been almost a year since he’s had a cock inside him, and he knows that George is far from small; a small shudder of fear goes through him, then, worried that George is going to fuck him dry, even though that wouldn’t be pleasurable for either of them. He’s not sure he’d be able to handle it, but he likes to think that even though George is quite obviously harbouring seven years of pent up anger, he wouldn’t do _that_.

‘Get on with it,’ Matty groans, doing his best to wiggle his arse at George from where he’s leaning over. This build up is starting to become torturous, and he just needs something from George, anything at all at this point.

George is silent behind Matty, the only sounds are his slightly laboured breathing, and the rustle of fabric as George’s cock keeps rubbing against his arse. Matty whines, his hard cock pressed between his stomach and the table, the pressure almost painful, and he’s about to beg George to just do _something_ when his fingers hook over the edge of Matty’s joggers and boxers, and he tugs them down so that Matty’s bare arse is exposed.

George does groan then, his large hands grabbing both of Matty’s cheeks, squeezing tight, and making Matty moan desperately. He’s so pent up, and George isn’t even really doing anything yet.

‘Please,’ Matty moans, just as George spreads his arse cheeks apart, and his eyes almost roll back in his head when he feels George spit against his exposed hole.

The press of George’s wet fingers against his rim take Matty by surprise, but it’s not unwelcome because they’re finally fucking getting somewhere at last. Matty knows his cock is leaking heavily against the table, can feel the slick drag of the skin against the smooth surface, and he truly cannot believe that he’s here, and this is really happening.

‘Fuck, G. Put your fucking fingers inside me, please,’ Matty gasps when George just dips the tip of one finger in just teasingly. ‘It’s been so fucking long, please, just fuck me.’

Even though Ross and Adam never explicitly said anything about it, Matty can tell George’s demeanour that he’s not been with anyone since Harley, which must make him infinitely more desperate than Matty is, and Matty simply cannot fathom going without sex for over a year. 

‘I said don’t call me that,’ George grits out, and then slowly he presses two fingers inside Matty's body. There’s barely any slick, just George’s spit on his hole, and presumably George also sucked on his fingers to make them wetter.

‘Oh my fuck— shit!’ Matty whimpers.

George’s fingers are deliciously thick, but it feels like he’s already being split open, pain blooming at the base of his spine from the intrusion. George braces the flat of his free hand against Matty’s back, holding him in place, and pinning his cock while he curls and twists his fingers inside.

Despite the pain, there’s pleasure there too. He’s always been a bit of a slut for the burn and stretch of having something in his arse, and therefore he can’t help but push back against George’s fingers, small moans spilling from his lips every time George almost hits that spot inside him.

Matty can feel his body starting to heat up, sweat prickling on his skin, and his moans get louder with every movement of George’s fingers. In fact he’s so focussed on the burning pleasure spreading through him that he doesn’t even really notice when George adds a third finger, and he can feel the wet drag of George’s cock brushing the back of his thighs. 

Matty tries his best to crane his head around, he wants to see George, to drink in the sight of his body, his chest, his cock, and he can just about glimpse from his position that George has discarded his hoodie and worked his joggers down to free his cock. Matty spies new ink, and he thinks about how, maybe one day, George might like him again enough to show him, but that thought is shoved instantly from his mind when George’s fingers hit his prostate dead on, and it takes all Matty has in him not to scream.

George betrays himself then, because Matty hears him moan as clear as day, and it makes him moan louder in response, trying desperately to keep George’s fingers pressed up against that spot.

Warmth bubbles in Matty’s stomach, and he scrambles against the table for something to hold onto, but it’s futile.

‘There, there— oh _fuck_ , right there!’

The pleasure is gone almost as quickly as it arrives, with George cruelly withdrawing his fingers, and wiping the slick against Matty’s damp back.

‘You’re such a bastard,’ Matty whimpers, his hole clenching desperately around nothing. He’d been so close, so fucking close.

‘Fuck you,’ comes George’s reply, and Matty would give anything for George to give him something other than cold, clinical disdain while they’re doing this, but the pleasure is too good to tell him to stop now.

‘Yeah, fuck me,’ Matty breathes, turning his head to look at George as best he can. ‘Fuck me like you hate me, G, come on.’

‘I do hate you,’ George growls, pressing the head of his cock against Matty’s hole.

Panic washes over Matty then, his body jerking, and he doesn’t even really register what George just said.

‘Wait— wait, I have lube… there’s some lube in my wallet… my jacket pocket,’ Matty chokes out, heart hammering in his chest. He’s never been fucked dry before, and he’s not about to start, not with George’s massive cock.

Matty lets out a low, shaky breath, closing his eyes as he hears George grabbing the lube, and he tries his best to not fixate on what George said.

_I do hate you._

George hates him. It shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, but it feels like a kick to the stomach regardless.

George returns then, and the wet, hot sounds of him slicking up his cock goes straight to Matty’s own. He presses his sweaty forehead against the table, and focuses on his breathing, but it hitches when he feels George pressing against him again. 

Matty wants this, he wants to be full of George, split open on his cock, because it’s been so long, and the first and last time they’d done this, it had been beautiful, passionate and hot, and Matty has got off on that memory so many times in the past. But this is different, George feels like a stranger, and it makes Matty want to cry.

The noise that George makes when he slowly pushes into Matty is almost sinful; a low, deep noise in his throat, and it must feel incredible for him after going without sex for such a long time.

‘Matty, fuck,’ he hisses, and Matty just moans in reply, his mouth open in an ‘o’ of pleasure as George slowly fills him up.

The lower half of his body is on fire, George has both hands gripping his hips, and sparks of pleasure and pain are firing through him. It fucking hurts, but the pain only makes his cock ache and his heart race, but he wishes he had something to hold onto; he wants to hold onto George, run his fingers all over his strong body, he wants to kiss him so he can pretend that everything isn’t fucked, and that George doesn’t hate him.

George doesn’t stop pushing forwards until he’s fully inside Matty, his balls up flush against Matty’s; tears prick at Matty’s eyes, he feels so fucking _full_ , and George feels even bigger than Matty remembers. It’s a lot, and his sweaty fingers scramble for purchase on the table as George starts to roll his hips, small grunts of pleasure falling somewhere above him.

‘George,’ Matty whimpers, and he’s met with one of George’s hands fisting harshly in his hair, his strong fingers twisting in the strands and effectively lifting Matty off the table.

Matty braces his hands on the table then, his thighs starting to tremble when George starts to thrust. He’s trembling so hard that he’s surprised he’s even upright, the only thing keeping him from falling over is George’s hand pulling on his hair so tightly that it aches in his temples. However, he quickly forgets all about the pain in his head when the change of angle means that George is nailing that spot inside him on every deep and dirty thrust. He wails loudly because _fuck_ , he forgot how good this can feel. The pain melts away and suddenly his entire body is alive with pleasure and he’s all but screaming, crying out George’s name on every perfect thrust.

‘Christ, your fucking arse,’ George moans, and his voice sounds so thick with pleasure that Matty can’t help but reach down and wrap a hand around himself, aided only by the slick of precum leaking from the tip.

‘Harder, fuck— please, I need it harder,’ Matty gasps, and George obliges, tightening his grip on Matty’s hair all the while fucking into him so hard that the heavy kitchen table groans a little under the force.

Matty’s head goes hazy then, he’s floating along on a heady wave of pleasure, and all that matters is George’s cock, and George’s hands, and the rapid, wet sound of his own hand stroking himself, edging closer and closer with every whimpered breath, and jerk of George’s hips.

For a while the only sounds are Matty’s moans, and George’s heavy, panting breath, until suddenly George lets go of Matty’s hair and shoves him forwards so he’s pressed into the table once again. His head thuds against the hard surface, and there’s a heavy pressure where George is pushing him down, making his face ache, and trapping his cock in the process. 

‘George, oh fuck— fuck, G,’ he whimpers weakly just before he cums, biting down hard on his fist before spilling between his chest and the table; the pressure of George’s cock hammering that spot and the friction against his body and the table obviously just enough to tip him over the edge. 

Matty swears his vision whites out at the corners as he rides out his orgasm, his head swimming blissfully as George fucks him through it. There are overwhelmed tears building at the corners of his eyes, and he knows full well that he’s going to ache like a bitch in the morning, but he can’t really bring himself to care when George’s thick cock is buried so deep inside him.

George goes rigid behind him when he eventually cums, a choke off cry filling the silent room, and it sounds like George is gasping for breath when he finally lets himself slip from Matty’s body. Matty can feel his cum dripping down the backs of his thighs, and he winces when he slowly stands up, pain shooting through his lower body urgently now that the high of his orgasm is starting to dissipate.

An awkward air fills the space between them as Matty eases his boxers and joggers back on, trying to ignore the sticky feeling of George’s release slowly seeping out of him with every movement. George has his back to him, now fully clothed once again, and Matty gingerly pulls on his shirt, his fingers itching to pick up George’s and put it back on, just for the comfort of it, but he doesn’t want to unnecessarily provoke George if he doesn’t have to. 

‘I’m just gonna—‘ Matty starts, grabbing his jacket from the arm of the sofa, but he pauses when he sees, even from behind, that George’s shoulders are shaking.

‘George?’

Matty places a hand on George’s shoulder, and he starts, freezing at the touch before turning round, and what he sees makes his heart break into a thousand pieces.

George’s face is streaked with tears, they’re dripping off his face and onto his grey hoodie, darkening the material with tiny damp patches. He’s sobbing, but it’s silent, until a sob wrenches its way out, and George looks like he’s collapsing in on himself.

‘Fuck, George. Hey, hey, c’mere, it’s okay,’ Matty says, panicked, pulling George into him. He expects resistance, but George lets himself be held but doesn’t hug back, and he’s trembling so hard that Matty’s almost worried that he might be in shock. 

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Matty keeps murmuring, desperate to ease whatever has made George this way.

After a few quiet moments when it seems like George has calmed down a bit, he pulls away, furiously wiping his wet eyes on the sleeves of his hoodie. 

‘This was a mistake,’ George says finally, his voice hoarse and scratchy. ‘Please, don’t come back here again. I don’t want to see you again.’

Matty feels sick.

‘But George—‘

‘Please, leave me alone, Matty— I can’t do this, I can’t—‘ George’s voice cracks on the last word, and Matty bites down on his bottom lip, his stomach churning.

‘We need to talk about this, George, about what—‘

‘Please, get out, I can’t see you, please just fucking go!’ George is shouting now, but fresh tears are running down his face, and though it physically pains him to do so, Matty leaves, not turning to look at George one last time before clicking the door shut behind him.

**

People are still awake by the time Matty gets home, he can hear the buzz of the TV, and voices coming from Louis’ room, but Matty isn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. He all but drags himself upstairs, and once alone in his room, he methodically removes his clothes, tossing his soiled boxers into the dirty hamper in the corner but letting everything else stay where it falls in a heap on the floor. 

He doesn’t bother putting anything on before he crawls into bed. There’s a gaping pit in his stomach, and everything hurts; he can still feel George’s fingers twisted in his hair, his head is pounding, his arse aches, he still feels sticky and dirty, and he knows that sitting is going to be a struggle for a few days at least. 

And finally, his heart aches, it feels broken; he can see George’s tear stained face behind his eyes, and it hurts a million times more than the cold, dead look he’d been able to see when he’d closed his eyes before. Going to see George had been a mistake, he should have just stayed away like George had asked, but Matty, too stubborn for his own good, just couldn’t leave it alone. Picking and picking, like a scab on an old wound, and all he’s really done is made things one hundred times worse for himself, and for George.

A sob hitches in his throat, and he buries his face in the pillow to stifle it as he comes to the realisation that maybe he broke George so badly that he can’t be fixed after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for sticking with this, I'm really enjoying writing it! ❤️ I was planning on posting one long chapter but I've decided to split into two so I may post a mid-week update at some point if I can get the second part finished and edited in time 🥺 much love! x

Matty does everything he can over the next week to distract himself from the catastrophically disastrous episode with George. In the following days he applies for every job he can find, from supermarket delivery driver to receptionist at the local doctor’s surgery, just to give him something to do, and to get a little bit of cash, his life savings having now dwindled down to a measly tenner. He only ends up getting a call back from one; the tiny, slightly grungy old vinyl shop on the outskirts of town. The pay is terrible, and the guy who owns it looks like Gandalf (if Gandalf had had a run in with a box of Schwarzkopf Deep Black hair dye), but he’d been impressed by Matty’s musical ability, and his obscure music knowledge, enough to give him a trial shift the following week.

Matty really does try his best not to think about George, he doesn’t even tell Ross and Adam about his second visit to see him, and if George had told them at all then neither of them bring it up when they go to the pub a few days later. He feels a little bit bad for keeping them in the dark, but he doesn’t want either of them to fuss or make a big deal about it. Matty’s doing a good enough job of that all on his own thank you very much.

Louis knows something is up though, even though he hasn’t said anything to Matty, Matty’s sure he knows. It’s apparent in the looks he gives Matty; maybe he heard Matty crying, or maybe they have a weird brotherly bond, despite Matty disappearing for almost half of Louis’ life. Either way, Louis knows _something_ , and Matty is eternally grateful that he doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want the knife to twist deeper, he’s already haunted by George’s tear stained face when he tries to sleep, the last thing he needs is to be reminded of it when he’s awake.

The sex had been good; being intimate with George always felt physically good, but Matty just can’t shake the feeling that he’d been fucking a complete stranger. Rewind ten years, if you’d told eighteen year old Matty that one day, George would feel so cold and unfamiliar, he would have told you to fuck off, George could never be anything other than warm, and kind, and _constant_. Yet here they were, George hated him, and every time Matty catches himself becoming wistful, George’s voice is always there to help kick him to the curb.

 _I do hate you_.  
_I do hate you_.  
_I do hate you_.

**

It’s a Thursday evening, promptly marking two whole weeks since Matty arrived back in Wilmslow, and he’s pouting at his phone. He was meant to be going round to Adam’s to finally meet Grace and Liam, but he’s just received a text from Adam to say that Liam has a bad tummy bug, asking if they can rain check for next week. Matty taps out a quick response, then lays back on his bed and sighs, he contemplates asking Louis if he wants to watch a movie or something, when there’s a knock on his bedroom door.

‘Matty? Can I come in?’ Louis calls, and Matty smiles; his brother is way too fucking polite for a teenage boy. Where’s all the swearing and the door slamming?

‘You don’t have to ask, you twat,’ Matty laughs, sitting up and propping his back up against the wall when Louis enters.

‘Since when is being polite twattish?’ Louis asks with a heavy eyeroll that he’s obviously inherited from their mum.

‘It’s not, it’s just fucking weird that you’re so polite, you put the memory of teenage me to shame,’ Matty snorts. ‘Surprised mum never kicked me out if I’m being honest.’

‘Fuck off, being polite is not weird. Anyway, I just thought you’d like to know that I’m pretty sure George is parked in our driveway. He’s been there for like ten minutes. Old jeep? Muddy tires? Ringing any bells?’

‘Don’t be a dick,’ Matty mutters, scowling at his brother. He knows Louis doesn’t know what transpired between him and George, but even so.

‘I’m not!’ Louis protests. ‘He’s out there, go see for yourself!’ And with that he’s gone, but Matty doesn’t miss the very Denise-esque eye roll as he leaves.

Matty slips his phone into his jeans pocket, and grabs a hoodie from the hook on the back of the door. His heart is racing, hands shaking as he tries to figure out why the fuck George is just randomly parked in the drive way. What could he possibly want? Matty doesn’t really want another smack, and he’s cried more over George in the last two weeks than he’s cried over anything in the last seven years!

He grabs his keys from the bowl by the door, slips his Vans on, making his way out into the cold winter night. There’s a fine dusting of snow on the ground, and sure enough, there’s George’s jeep, rusty and covered in mud, parked a little way down the drive. Matty wraps his hoodie around himself tighter as he heads in George’s direction, and he swears he feels a jolt go through him when George looks up from his lap, and their eyes meet, his face illuminated by the dying light of the day, and the lights coming from inside the house.

Matty swiftly opens the passenger door and climbs inside, not wanting to be presumptuous, but just wanting to get out of the cold. He looks at George steadily, taking him in, and he can’t help but feel awash with fondness as he takes in George’s muddy wellies and hideous patterned fleece; a stark contrast to Matty’s beat up Vans and ripped denim.

‘Why are you here?’ Matty asks quietly, sliding a finger under the hole in his jeans, playing with the frayed edges nervously.

George clears his throat.

‘I’d— um… can we go back to mine? The heating in this piece of shit is on the blink, and I’d rather not freeze my bollocks off while we talk.’

It’s the most normal thing George has said to him since he’s been back, and the tight knot of anxiety in his stomach loosens just a little bit.

Matty nods, wrapping his hoodie closer around his shivering body, it’s not quite as cold in the jeep as it is outside, but it’s a close call. 

George doesn’t say anything else on the drive, and mercifully it’s a quick journey because the silence is a little awkward, and Matty doesn’t know what to say. His behaviour towards George all hinges on what George has to say to him.

By the time they arrive at the farm, the snow has started up again, just light flakes floating down, and Matty really wishes he’d bought something with him a little more heavy duty than a hoodie to keep him warm.

George unlocks the front door, and Matty can hear barking coming from inside; he momentarily forgets about everything else because there had been evidence of a dog in George’s house but he’d not seen it the last few times he’s been here.

‘Shhh, Captain. Silly boy,’ George coos as they both bundle inside, and Matty’s heart warms when he sees a black and white sheepdog bound up to George and put his two front paws up so they’re resting on his stomach.

‘Down boy, down boy… good boy,’ George says fondly, giving him a fond scratch behind the ears when he does as he’s told before heading in the direction of the kitchen.

Matty drops to his knees, then, and Captain trots over to him cautiously, so Matty holds a hand out for him to sniff.

‘Hello, friend,’ Matty murmurs, giggling a little when Captain starts to lick his fingers. ‘You’re such a good boy, yes you are.’

‘Do you want a beer?’ George calls out, and Matty can’t help but feel confused at this complete one eighty in George’s mood. George is still being a little stilted and awkward with him, but it’s a far cry from the tearful, angry mess George had been the other day.

‘If there’s one going, thanks,’ Matty says as he stands, scratching Captain behind the ears, and sitting on the arm of the sofa. The room is warm and smells of wood smoke, and it both is and isn’t incredibly _George_ at the same time, and Matty is trying to work out how that’s even possible.

Matty watches George curiously as he grabs two cans from the fridge. At some point he must have discarded his muddy wellies because Matty notices that there’s a big hole in the toe of George’s right sock, and he feels fond all over again.

George hands him the beer, offers him a tentative smile, and tips his own can towards Matty.

‘Cheers.’

**

They make small talk for a little while, both perching awkwardly on George’s sofa, Matty’s stomach twisting in knots the whole time with George so close. Now that they’re not fighting of fucking, Matty has a proper chance to study George, to really _look_ at him. He’s grown into his features, his jaw is strong, and he’s filled out, he’s far broader and stronger than he was at twenty. Matty’s eyes glance over George’s moles, and he’s reminded with a painful tug in his chest that he used to love mapping George’s moles with his fingers, and his mouth. He’s still beautiful, Matty has always thought so, not beautiful in a conventional way or anything, but his eyes are warm and kind, and in his own George way, he is beautiful.

He wants to ask George why he’s bought him here, because he’s sure that it’s not so that they can talk about the farm, and the well-being of Matty’s parents and brother. He’s about half way through his beer by the time he works up the courage to ask. 

‘Why am I here, George?’ Matty asks during a lull in the conversation, he looks George in the eye but then chickens out, his eyes dropping to fixate on the condensation dripping down his can of beer.

George clears his throat and sets his beer on the table. He brings his hand up to his mouth, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth as he looks at Matty. A nervous habit he’s had as long as Matty has known him. Some things truly don’t ever change.

‘I wanted to say sorry,’ George says, and it’s so quiet that Matty thinks he’s misheard to start with.

‘I’m sorry for the other night.’ George’s voice is clearer this time, and Matty just blinks. 

‘What I did to you was really fucking out of line, and it’s been driving me crazy— are you— fuck— are you okay? I didn’t… I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?’

George sounds genuinely worried, and Matty reaches out to gently pull George’s fingers from his mouth, for fear of George pulling off a chunk of skin with how hard he’s chewing. George’s skin is warm to the touch, and Matty aches to run his hands over George’s skin, to take his time, but he pulls away quickly, shaking his head.

‘No, no… I was okay,’ Matty says. A bit of a lie, his arse had hurt for a good two days afterwards, but Matty has never really minded that, he quite likes having the reminder really, even if it is a little uncomfortable.

‘The uhh— the sex was good,’ Matty says with a blush, and he can’t believe he’s actually being shy about sex. At the age of twenty-eight. It’s pathetic. 

‘The sex was good,’ George echoes, and the silence is thick with tension. Matty can feel George looking at him, and he vaguely thinks that they might be about to have a _moment_ when suddenly Captain jumps up from where he’d been curled up on the floor, and barrels up to him, leaping up to put his two front paws on Matty’s shoulders. In his surprise, Matty drops his beer and yelps when the cool liquid spills all over his crotch, soaking quickly through his jeans and boxers. 

‘Down, Captain. Down, boy,’ George says sharply, standing up, and when Captain clambers off him to sit obediently at his feet, Matty dabs uselessly at his soaked crotch with the sleeve of his hoodie.

‘He’s a good tension breaker,’ Matty laughs weakly, giving up trying to dry himself off, only really achieving soaking his sleeve as well as his crotch.

‘Sorry about him,’ George sighs, and Matty can’t help but laugh as Captain slinks off to his bed, looking every bit the scolded child.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Matty says reassuringly. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve had beer spilt on me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last!’

‘Let me go grab you something dry to put on,’ George says hastily, looking a little embarrassed, and it’s so completely endearing that all Matty wants to do is hug him. It reminds him of what George was like when they first became friends, shy and awkward, never sure if what he was saying or doing was cool, and so desperate to impress the older boys.

George leaves Matty alone then, and he can’t put a finger on what exactly it is that he’s feeling but there are butterflies in his stomach that won’t fucking calm down. It’s undeniably a little awkward between them which is inevitable, but at least George isn’t hitting him, or yelling, or crying, which is definitely a step in the right direction. Under different circumstances Matty wouldn’t mind George shoving him over the edge of his kitchen table again, but if he and George were to fuck again, Matty would much rather it be in a bed, on his back so he can drink in every part of George, so they can be close, and kiss. Matty’s definitely getting soft in his old age.

George reappears then, and he has a small pile of neatly folded clothes in his hands.

‘Here you go,’ George says softly, handing them over. They’re warm from the airing cupboard, and Matty’s fingers brush against George’s when he takes them from him. Matty’s stomach does somersaults.

‘I uhh… those were my last two beers, but I’ve got a bottle of red in the cupboard.’

‘A man after my own heart, George.’

George turns away quickly, but Matty doesn’t miss the blush on George’s face as he turns away towards the kitchen, and butterflies take flight in Matty’s stomach once again.

**

There are only dregs left in the bottle of wine, and Matty is well on his way to being very comfortably tipsy. He’s clad in a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt so baggy that it genuinely comes half way down Matty’s thighs, he thinks he’s giving off Julia Roberts in Notting Hill vibes, and he’s feeling it a little bit. There’s a flush to George’s cheeks, partially because of the fire crackling away, but mostly because of the wine, and Matty can vividly remember George at eighteen telling Matty that wine was fucking disgusting, and why the hell would you pick to drink wine over beer. His tastes have improved with age, it would seem.

‘Hey, G--’ Matty starts, interrupted by a little hiccup and then a giggle. ‘D’you remember that time you were trying to flirt with that girl at Bijou but then Ross stacked it trying to do the moonwalk, and then you laughed so hard that your beer came out of your nose--’ he cuts himself off to giggle out a hiccup again, starting to trip over his words, the alcohol loosening his tongue and making everything way funnier than it should be. ‘And then the girl threw her drink at you because she thought you were laughing at her!’

‘Don’t!’ George groans, rubbing at his pink cheeks with his free hand, but he’s smiling, and shaking his head. ‘It looked like I had piss all over my shirt, and no girl came near me for the rest of the night!’

‘Didn’t matter in the end though, did it?’ Matty smirks over the rim of his wine glass, feeling bold. ‘Pretty sure I blew you in the loos while we waited for a taxi.’

‘You were always better at blowjobs than any girl I’ve ever been with,’ George admits with a quiet giggle.

Matty watches, then, as he brings his wine glass to his lips, swallowing down what’s left in the glass. His Adam’s apple bobs, and Matty follows it with his eyes, feeling a flash of warmth throughout his entire body. He remembers just how good it used to feel to drop to his knees for George, the way George’s cock would stretch his mouth out and make his jaw ache for days afterwards.

Matty sets his empty glass on the table, then reaches for George’s and does the same. Feeling bold, he moves closer to George until he’s sliding into George’s lap, shivering at the feel of the rough denim against his bare thighs, nervous excitement bubbling in his stomach to accompany the butterflies.

George looks up at him then, his eyes are unreadable but he’s not pushing Matty away.

‘I really like your hair blonde,’ George says softly, lifting his hand up like he wants to touch, but he’s not sure where, so he lets it fall to his side again.

‘Really?’ Matty murmurs. ‘Everyone else thinks it looks like shit.’

George nods slowly, and when Matty looks into his eyes, he sees warmth there for the first time, and Matty could cry because it means there’s hope.

‘I like yours longer,’ Matty continues, softly, and without permission he reaches round and slowly takes George’s hair out of his messy bun. George’s hands find Matty’s thighs then, and they rest there on bare skin, causing a shiver to run up his spine. 

Matty brushes some of George’s wild curls behind his ears, thumb brushing over his jaw, and George makes a choked off sound, his fingers tightening on Matty’s thighs.

‘Kiss me,’ George all but whispers then, his eyes are pleading, and Matty has never been happier to oblige anyone of anything in his entire life.

Sobering up almost instantly, Matty cups George’s face in both his hands and kisses him deeply, savouring his wine-soaked mouth, and feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him when George fucking _moans_ against his lips.

‘Fuck, G,’ Matty pants, running his fingers through George’s hair, closing his eyes, then moaning himself when George’s hands grab his arse to tug him closer. 

Matty doesn’t understand why George has such an effect on him in this way, but it’s always been the case. Always unable to keep their hands off each other, always so pent up and desperate, always needing to be closer, closer, closer. They were just obsessed with the unbridled want they had for each other, and it was so intense that no one else could ever hope to compare.

From their new closeness, Matty can feel George getting hard beneath him, and his own cock aches in response. He has images of George bouncing him on his cock right there on the sofa, and he’s about to whisper his suggestion into George’s ear when George goes almost rigid beneath him.

‘It’s getting late,’ George blurts out, but there’s a tremor in his voice. Matty can see that his pupils are blown, and it probably wouldn’t take much persuading to at least let Matty suck him off, but he doesn’t want to scare George off, so he carefully climbs out of his lap, adjusting his erection as he does so.

George stands up so fast that he wobbles a bit, looking like he might fall over; Matty reaches out a hand to steady him, but George pulls away like he’s been burned.

‘You— you can stay tonight, it’s late and I think it’s been snowing loads… uh, I’ll go get you a blanket if you wanna sleep here—‘ he gestures awkwardly at the sofa, biting on his thumbnail as he goes to retrieve a blanket.

Matty sighs and picks up the empty wine glasses, taking them over to the sink, rinsing them quickly before filling his up with water, and drinking it down, not wanting to go rummaging around George’s kitchen for a proper glass.

George returns and drapes the blanket over the edge of the sofa, he looks over at Matty, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously.

‘Night, Matty. The fire should die out soon but the embers will keep you warm for a bit,’ he explains awkwardly, bending down to give sleeping Captain a gentle scratch behind the ears.

Matty nods, giving George a sad smile, unable to comprehend that ten minutes earlier he thought that maybe he and George had made some kind of breakthrough, but now George is cold and distant once more, and Matty feels like he has fucking whiplash.

He sighs.

‘Goodnight, George.’

**

Matty wakes up shivering. The fire has long died out, and the blanket George gave him isn’t really thick enough to provide any real warmth. He’s frozen, can’t feel his toes even though he left his socks on, and he contemplates waking Captain to see if he’ll come and sit on him to warm him up, but he doesn’t want to risk him barking and waking George up.

Grabbing his phone from the coffee table, Matty groans. It’s just gone 2am, he’s only been asleep a couple of hours, but he’s so cold he knows he’ll never be able to go back to sleep, not like this anyway. He grabs the blanket and wraps it around himself, wandering over to the window. Snow is swirling outside, and there’s a thick blanket of it on the ground that definitely wasn’t there when he arrived at George’s earlier in the evening, no wonder he feels like a fucking icicle.

Matty thinks then, how wonderful it would be to be surrounded by George’s warmth, all cosy in bed, like they used to. They would always fit so well, Matty was always cold, and George always way too warm, they always balanced each other out like yin and yang, and it’s that (and the lingering haze of alcohol) which drives Matty towards what he assumes his George’s bedroom seeing as it’s the only room where the door is closed.

Mercifully, the door opens silently, and Matty tiptoes in. The room is in complete darkness, the curtains are closed, and Matty can only just about make out where he can walk without tripping over anything. George is snoring faintly, apparent the closer he gets to the bed. George always used to be a deep sleeper, and Matty is counting on this still being the case as he carefully climbs in beside George, sliding under the covers, already able to feel the warmth radiating from George’s body.

Matty can see his chest rising and falling slowly, and to this day George is the only person he’s ever met that sleeps on his back. He tucks his feet in close, not touching George, but almost, and the wave of longing that washes over Matty then is so strong that it feels like a punch to the gut. He longs to curl up into him, lay his head on George’s chest, feel the heat of his skin, his strong, calming presence. He can’t see George’s face in the dark, but he hopes he looks peaceful, he hopes that George can experience peace, even if it’s just in his sleep. 

‘I’m so fucking sorry,’ Matty whispers, not really sure where the need to start bearing his soul has come from, but it may have something to do with the fact that the more time he spends in George’s company, the more Matty can see just how profound an effect his absence has had on him.

‘I’m so sorry for leaving you, I’m sorry for leaving everyone, my family, Ross, Adam… but especially you, George. You were my best fucking friend, but you were more than that-- and I’m-- I’m only really starting to realise how much more than that you were since coming back here,’ Matty swallows thickly, shutting his eyes. His voice is barely a whisper, and George’s breathing is still even, he needs George to stay asleep while he says this, or he’ll never get it out.

‘There’s little bits of you all over this fucking town, George, and I didn’t know how much I missed you until I came back. You were everything to me, George, and I didn’t even know it. I know you stopped the thing we had going on, and I know I was so obsessed with getting out and making it big, but if I’d just fucking stayed--’ he trails off, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting against the stinging tears.

‘--if I’d stayed… fuck-- everything was so fucked in London. I got so fucked up, London fucked me up. I thought staying here would fuck me up, but leaving was so much worse-- people hurt me, I was such a mess. I’m such an idiot, but I always have been, and you always knew that, and you stuck by me anyway… you even like my fucking stupid hair when everyone else thinks I look like a knob.’

George’s hand extends outwards and brushes over Matty’s arm, and Matty freezes, but then George is dragging him in closer until Matty’s face is pressed against George’s chest, and suddenly George is everywhere, the feel of him, the smell of him, and he’s still so warm, so strong, and so calming.

‘George?’ Matty whispers, trying to gage if George is doing this involuntarily in his sleep, or not. 

George stays silent, and Matty breathes out a slow, shaky sigh of relief. There are so many things that Matty still needs to say, but he thinks they’re best saved for another day. For now, he’s content to let himself be slowly lulled to sleep by the gentle rhythm of George’s breathing, and the steady beat of his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A nice long chapter for you, I did want to get this up mid-week but I've been sick so no dice on that one! Anyway, please enjoy ❤️ everyone's reaction to this fic has gone above and beyond what I expected, and I'm so eternally thankful xx

George’s bed is cold and empty when Matty wakes the following morning. In that hazy point between sleep and consciousness, Matty had imagined waking, still tangled in George’s arms, and he really tries to not be disappointed when he sees that that’s not the case.

Matty rolls over onto his side, facing the empty space where George should be, and he can see from the clock on the nightstand that it’s almost 9am. He groans, sits up slowly, and sighs a little, glad at least that he seems to have escaped a hangover. He frowns when he sees that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow where George slept, Matty’s name scribbled in George’s messy handwriting. His stomach lurches.

The piece of paper shakes in Matty’s hands as he unfolds it.

_Matty_

_I’m afraid there’s no such thing as a lie in when you work on a farm, weekends don’t really exist either. I was going to wake you before I left, but you looked peaceful and I couldn’t be that mean._

_I just wanted to apologise for last night, it would seem that all we keep doing is apologising to each other recently, but I really am sorry. I hope you understand that I had to stop kissing you when I did, because if I carried on then I would have never stopped. You know I’ve never been very good at controlling myself around you, and it looks like that’s still the case._

_I don’t want to make excuses for my behaviour towards you, but everything went to shit after you left, you properly fucked me up, and I don’t think I’m the same person I used to be. I had to get used to life without you, and I didn’t take that very well. You being back is a lot to take, and I’m terrified, honestly. I don’t hate you, I didn’t mean it when I said that, but I also don’t think we can go back to the way we were either. Too much has changed, I’ve changed, and having you around isn’t good for me. I’ve been a fucking mess since you’ve been back, and I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear._

_By the way, your clothes are on the radiator, and I’ve found you a pair of wellies you can borrow. I would offer you a lift back to yours, but the old banger doesn’t cope well with lots of snow and I’d rather not kill us both._

_I know I came to you this time round, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t contact me for a little while, I need to sort my head out._

_Yours,_

_G_

Matty reads the note with a sinking feeling in his stomach, cursing himself for daring to think that he and George may have turned a corner at last. He runs his fingers over the scribbled words, and tries to picture George sitting here, writing this note while he slept on peacefully next to him. It hurts, it really fucking hurts, not because George wasn’t here when he woke up, but because George has pretty much put a nail in the coffin regarding the idea that they could ever go back to normal. Sex aside, Matty had genuinely started to believe that, one day, he might get his best friend back, but it seems like that might not be the case after all. 

His fingers linger on the ‘Yours’ at the bottom, and his heart gives a tug; George had been his once, it had never had a name, but George was undeniably his. Friends with benefits don’t behave the way they used to; they don’t cuddle up in bed together most nights, and they don’t get jealous when the other has a girlfriend, that’s not how friends with benefits behave. There’s another name entirely for what they were, and Matty is only starting to put it all together. Maybe Louis had been right about why George ended things, maybe George had realised long ago what they were, and ended it for self-preservation because he thought Matty didn’t feel the same way.

Matty wants to tear the note into pieces, and throw it away, so he can pretend that the words he’s just read aren’t true, but something stops him. He folds it back over and climbs out of bed, and true to George’s word, Matty’s clothes are warming on the radiator on the other side of the room next to a pair of old but clean green wellies. He removes the clothes that George lent him, folding them and leaving them on the bed before dressing slowly back into his own, slipping on the too-big wellies, and tucking the note into the back pocket of his jeans. 

The material is warm and toasty, and Matty relishes it, taking one last look at George’s bedroom, and he’s about to leave when he spots something on George’s windowsill.

He moves towards it, and his breath catches in his chest. It’s the only picture of him that George has on display in the house as far as Matty can tell; it’s a picture of all four of them, him, George, Ross and Adam, but it’s candid, and they look so young, maybe seventeen or so. Matty in the photograph has his head thrown back in laughter, and George is looking at him so fondly while Ross and Adam smile at the camera.

Matty feels his chest cave in, then. The weight of all his guilt crushing him down until there’s nothing left of him, because _this_ is what he’d chosen to leave behind. Matty had left, and now he’s paying for the consequences. He tries to imagine what his life would have been like if he had stayed; maybe life wouldn’t have been exciting, but he tried for that and it didn’t work out well at all. Maybe he and George might have escalated into something more, maybe George would still have bought this farm, but instead they’d be living in it together. Matty yearns for it. London had never been worth giving all this up for, the girl he followed meant nothing to him in the end, and if he could go back and change it all, just so George could look at him the way he’s looking at him in that photo, then Matty would do it in a heartbeat.

The house is silent, not even Captain is around as Matty grabs his discarded phone from the coffee table where he’d left it the night before. Before he can second guess himself, he rushes back to George’s room, phone in hand, and takes a picture of the framed photo, almost feeling like he’s done something bad, he just wants a copy of it to keep, and George will never know. Guilt gnaws away at him as he enters the bright living room, and he glances out of the window, the snow bright and blinding in the winter sun, and Matty just knows he’s going to freeze his cock off without a proper coat, so he grabs the fleece George had been wearing the night before from a peg by the front door, figuring he’ll give it back one day; an excuse to see George again at least. The coat smells like George, and Matty takes a few moments just to savour it; it smells a little of cigarettes and wood smoke, but mostly of George’s aftershave, and that undefinable George smell, the one that permeates everything, the smell of warm skin and _home_.

Matty spies a discarded pad of paper and a pen on the kitchen table, where George obviously had scribbled the note he’d left for him. He can see the imprint of George’s words from where he’d been pressing down hard on the paper, and he decides to do the same, only his is far shorter than George’s had been.

_I stole your fleece. See you around._

_Yours, always,_

_Matty_

**

By the time Matty arrives back at his house, the snow has started to thaw a little, melting under the bright morning sun. Matty is glad for it, he fucking hates the snow, hates how it makes everything grind to a halt, and his mood is sour enough already without the fucking weather dampening it further. He’s endlessly glad for George’s wellies and fleece, but he realises with a sigh that he forgot to pick up his own shoes as he left; another excuse to see George again at some point, he guesses.

Matty just gets his key in the lock when the front door swings open anyway to reveal his mum.

‘Oh, Matthew! Sorry, I thought you were Louis trying to bunk off and get a snow day,’ Denise laughs. ‘I was about to turn him around and march him right back there!’

Matty offers his mum a weak smile, and it’s then that she must clock his attire, the fleece that’s very not Matty’s style, and the wellies that are a good three sizes too big, and make his feet look comically large for his small frame.

‘Those clothes aren’t yours,’ she states, standing back to let him inside because even though the snow is melting, it’s still bloody cold.

Matty shakes his head, kicking the wellies off and leaving them on the door mat. He really does not want to talk to his mum, but he gets the feeling she’s not going to let him get away that easily.

‘They’re George’s,’ Matty says, but his voice catches when he says George’s name. A sob bubbles up then that he realises he’s been holding since he read George’s note, still nestled in his jeans pocket. 

Matty’s shoulders start to shake, and his mum pulls him into a hug, instantly shushing him and holding him tightly as he cries. He tries to focus on his breathing, but it just comes out choked, and he can’t get enough air in. He feels like he’s dying. He feels pathetic. He hates himself. 

Denise breaks the hug first, and gently steers him in the direction of the kitchen, sitting him down at the kitchen table before busying herself with making them both a cup of tea. The clink of spoons on china as Denise makes his tea just the way he likes it is calming to Matty, and by the time the tea is made, Matty has calmed down enough that he’s able to form words. He’s still wrapped in George’s ugly fleece, and his heart aches as he wipes his eyes on the baggy sleeves. Being surrounded by George’s smell probably isn’t really helping matters, but it is comforting in a way, he can be close to George even though George doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

‘Thanks, mum,’ he says quietly.

The tea is too hot, but he picks up the mug to warm his hands, feeling comforted by the smell of the hot, sweet tea. His mum is looking at him kindly, and she’s always been very good at this, never too intrusive, good at waiting for you to come to her if you needed something, and Matty adores her for not pushing too hard.

‘I stayed round George’s last night,’ Matty starts, and his mum just looks at him, giving him a look that says, ‘do I look like I was born yesterday?’ 

‘Yeah… he came and picked me up, I dunno if Lou told you. But, long story short, I’m pretty sure everything is royally fucked, and he doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore.’

Matty’s voice is trembling a little, and he bites down on his bottom lip to stop it from betraying the fact that he really just wants to cry all over again. George’s note is burning a hole in his pocket, and before he can change his mind, he pulls it out and pushes it towards his mum on the table, not really caring that it gives away some aspects of his personal life with George, none of it matters anymore anyway.

‘He left me this.’

Denise’s eyes scan the note, and Matty watches her reaction carefully, sipping his tea even though it’s still too hot to drink, just to give him something to do while he waits for his mum’s reaction.

‘So, you and George?’ She asks eventually, folding the note up and placing it down on the table.

Matty deliberates on how much to tell his mum, finally deciding that to hide anything would be stupid. His mum isn’t a prude, and he’s not ashamed of what they did.

‘We had sex last week,’ Matty says quietly, his cheeks heating up at his admission. ‘It was a mistake, and we were both really angry, so last night he came round and took me back to his so he could apologise. We’d both had a little bit to drink, and we kissed, and now he’s written me that fucking note, and it’s just so fucked, mum.’ Matty’s voice almost cracks again, but he manages to control it, taking a deep breath. 

‘We used to… mess about when we were younger, too,’ Matty explains, figuring there’s no point in hiding it anymore. He catches himself wondering if Ross and Adam know, he never told them but that’s not to say that George hasn’t at some point.

‘I know,’ Denise laughs softly, giving him a kind smile.

Matty falters, freezing on the way to bringing his mug to his lips.

‘Wait, you knew this whole time?’

‘Of course I knew, Matthew. I’m your mum, it’s my job to know, and you weren’t exactly subtle either, I might add!’

‘How did you find out?’ Matty asks, a little afraid of the answer considering that Louis found out through witnessing him sucking George off in the garden.

Denise blushes a little bit, shaking her head, though a smile tugs at her lips.

‘I will save your blushes and not go into detail, all I’ll say is I came home early once, and heard some things. I thought you had a girl in your room, but then I see George’s bike parked outside, and so I just put two and two together.’

It’s Matty’s turn to blush, staring down at the table top, his stomach twisting as he remembers how many times George would come over after school to do homework, and play on Matty’s XBox, but they’d always just end up making out, and rutting against each other through their school uniforms. They thought they were being so discrete, but not discrete enough to fool Denise.

‘Well,’ Matty sighs, tears still threatening. ‘Now you know, not that it fucking matters, because I’m pretty sure he hates me, and I just wanted to undo all my stupid fuck ups because I well and truly did fuck up… I fucked _George_ up, and I just wanted to fix it somehow.’

‘I don’t think he hates you,’ Denise says gently, tapping her nails against her mug. ‘I think he’s probably very confused. You were gone a long time, and now you’re back, and I know that Ross and Adam welcomed you back with open arms, but I think you knew George would be a tougher nut to crack, especially if the two of you used to be in a relationship.’

Matty wants to argue that he and George were never in a proper relationship, but it’s futile. 

‘Just give him some time like he says in the note. You’ve only been back a few weeks. He’ll come round, you’ll see.’

‘We’ll see,’ Matty mutters, irritated because he’s never been particularly patient, and he really hates that his mum always knows best.

**

The bar is crowded despite the cold, miserable weather, and Matty has to push his way through throngs of people to actually get to the bar to order. He’s desperate for a drink, doesn’t want to think, and all these people are just getting in his way. He’d asked Ross if he’d wanted to come out with him, but Ross had declined, saying he had a mate from work coming over for some beers, but this didn't deter Matty, he’s no stranger to going to pubs and bars by himself. 

It’s been a while since he’s gone out like this by himself, though, due to being with Oliver for such a long time. Matty would usually go out like this to pull, girl or guy, it doesn’t matter to Matty. He just wants to get a bit pissed, forget about anything, and lose himself in a hot stranger just for a night. Of course, Wilmslow is not London, so his options are limited, but he’s definitely going to at least fucking try. He’d contemplated just going to the pub, but considering that the clientele of Wilmslow’s pubs have an average age of sixty, he decided to try his luck at Revolution that definitely hadn’t been here when he’d lived here before.

Matty has actually made an effort with his appearance, there’s not a lot he can do with his awful dye job, but he’s slicked it back, and dressed smart, all black with just a tiny bit of eyeliner, and he thinks he looks okay, he’d fuck himself for sure.

Once he gets to the bar, he orders a large red wine, and taps his fingers over the sticky surface, cocking his hip to the side to play a little coy. Matty can’t decide if he wants to pick up a girl or a guy. When he was younger, he definitely leaned towards girls, with George being the only exception, but now he’s older, men seem to do it for him more often than not. He loves a strong pair of hands gripping his hips, the scratch of stubble against his skin, being manhandled and manoeuvred. Maybe that’s why he’d got off so much on George being so rough that night, because George had given him something he needed without Matty even telling him what he liked.

Matty gladly takes his wine, paying for it with his last remaining tenner, and sips it slowly, eyes travelling around the bar. The music isn’t bad, not really Matty’s thing, but he’d dance to it if he were buzzed enough. There’s a group of pretty girls in high heels and dresses that are definitely not dressed for the cold weather outside, and one of them catches his eye and smiles. He smiles back, but it’s brief. She’s not his type anyway, and not what he’s looking for tonight.

Suddenly, he feels eyes on him, and he glances to his left, there’s a guy standing there with a couple of other people, he’s sipping a beer, and he’s looking directly at Matty. He’s very pretty, a little taller than Matty, close cropped blonde hair and freckles dusting his face, and when Matty catches his eye, a slow smile spreads across his face which makes his eyes light up.

Matty smiles back, cocks an eyebrow, and sips his wine.

Game on.

**

Roughly an hour later, and Matty is in his element, he’s absolutely not thinking about George, and he’s being pinned to the wall in some secluded corner by the pretty guy from the bar who he’s pretty sure is called Jacob. The wine is clouding his brain, but it feels so good to be kissed, and Jacob’s hands keep straying up and under his shirt. Matty drags his fingers over the short strands on Jacob’s head, loving the feel of it, and he lets out a tipsy giggle when Jacob pulls away.

‘My car is parked round the back, if you wanna…’ he trails off, biting his bottom lip around a smirk, and up this close Matty can see that he has freckles on his lips. He wants to bite them, kiss them off and make Jacob moan.

‘I wanna,’ Matty breathes, pushing his hips forwards so Jacob can feel that he’s at least half hard in his jeans. ‘Lead the way.’

Jacob’s car is far from fancy, an old, slightly beaten up Golf, but Matty doesn’t care, there’s room enough in the back for him to be spread out in Jacob’s lap, and that’s all he wants.

‘You’re eager,’ Jacob pants, laughing breathlessly as Matty grinds down in his lap, running his fingers through the shaved sides of Jacob’s hair because he’s a little bit obsessed with how soft it is. It’s like a kind of sensory overload, and the wine is not helping, but every point of contact between him and Jacob just feels so good, it’s been so long that he’s had a one night stand, and he’s honestly forgotten how exciting the whole thing is, and Jacob is really fucking hot which definitely helps.

‘Doesn’t feel like you have a problem with that,’ Matty murmurs, leaning down and burying his face in Jacob’s neck, thrilling at the scratch of stubble against his face as he slowly starts to suck against the thrumming pulse point against his tongue.

This is just what Matty wanted when he came out tonight, and he almost wants to give himself a pat on the back for not having lost his touch at all, even though it’s been at least a year since he’s picked someone up just for sex on a night out. He’s actually kind of glad Ross couldn’t make it, because he doesn’t have to worry about where Ross is, or what he’s doing. Matty remembers fondly that Ross always had a thing for going AWOL on night’s out, and Matty is really glad he doesn’t have to think about that while he’s getting his dick wet. Or, rather, Jacob is getting his dick wet, and Matty is getting fucked six ways from Sunday.

Jacob’s fingers feel like heaven when they finally stretch him open. Matty’s jeans and boxers are discarded somewhere in the car, and somehow Jacob produced lube from his wallet, and his fingers are so fucking thick, maybe even thick enough to rival George’s. Matty rocks his hips against the intrusion, and closes his eyes, Jacob is panting beneath him even though he’s not being touched, and it sounds so fucking _loud_ in the quiet car, but it’s so sexy. The windows are starting to steam up, and Matty has to grip Jacob’s shoulder to steady himself when his fingers nudge that tight bundle of nerves.

‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ Matty chants, tripping over his words with how good it feels. It never feels right when he fingers himself, the angle is always awkward and it makes his wrist ache, but this feels amazing, and Matty swears he could cum like this, but he doesn’t want to. He crashes his lips against Jacob’s, sucking on his bottom lip, and Matty is so glad that Jacob is just going along with everything, though his hands are gripping Matty’s hips so tightly that he really hopes he has bruises in the morning.

‘I’ll fuck you,’ Jacob gasps, nodding quickly, pulling his fingers out a little bit too quickly for Matty’s liking, he hisses, and his hole clenches, missing the feeling of having something inside him and pressing so perfectly against his prostate. 

‘There’s a-- fuck-- there’s a condom in my wallet,’ Jacob says hurriedly, tilting his head back, his hips twitching as Matty rubs his hard cock throuh his jeans. Matty abandons rubbing Jacob in favour or rummaging in his wallet, retrieving the foil packet and unwrapping it quickly, his fingers far more steady than he’s feeling right now. He’s pent up, a little drunk, and so fucking horny that he feels like he could fuck for hours. Jacob unzips his jeans, and pulls his cock out, and Matty smirks a little.

‘No underwear?’ Matty quips, his own cock throbbing because Jacob is pretty big, not as big as George, but big enough that he’ll stretch Matty out and allow him to feel it for a few days.

Jacob shrugs, grinning, and Matty can’t help but lean down to kiss the grin off his face, managing to get a hand between them as he does so, rolling the condom down onto Jacob’s cock, loving the feeling of the hot, almost silky skin under his fingertips.

Matty’s eyes almost roll back when he sinks down onto Jacob, there’s not really enough slick, and it sends a thrill up his spine. His fingers are digging into Jacob’s shoulders through his shirt, and his eyes slip shut as he bottoms out, fully spread open on Jacob’s cock. Jacob’s thighs are trembling underneath him, and it’s a good job that Matty’s got to do the majority of the work because he’s not sure Jacob would be able to hold himself up.

‘Matty,’ Jacob moans, his fingers finding their way up Matty’s shirt again, nails scraping over skin, and it makes Matty whine, his hips jerking. It’s cold outside, but the heat between their bodies is causing sweat to bead on Matty’s skin, and he’s hardly moving, he’s just rolling his body down against Jacob’s cock, and loving the way Jacob tenses as he does so.

Matty braces one hand on Jacob’s chest, the other on the headrest behind him as he slowly starts to fuck himself on Jacob’s cock, the car creaking a little with every movement from Matty. He opens his eyes and moans when he sees that Jacob’s mouth is hanging open a little in pleasure, his own eyes closed seemingly in bliss as Matty works himself slowly up and down. It’s been a while since Matty’s been fucked in this position, and he’s going slowly just to get used to it once again.

The pressure inside him feels incredible as he speeds up, he feels so fucking full, and it twinges in his lower back, but he just loves it, and he can tell that Jacob is gaining in confidence a little bit because he drags his hands down to grip hold of Matty’s hips, holding him in places as he starts to bounce his hips, meaning that Matty hardly has to move at all.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Matty cries out as Jacob starts to fuck into him in earnest, he’s moaning below him, a low, growling noise, and Matty can’t help but wrap a hand around himself to ease off some of the pleasure. He’s transported then, back to George’s car on that hot night when they’d fucked for the first time, he’d held Matty just like this, fucked Matty _just like_ this. If Matty closes his eyes, he could pretend that it’s George below him, George’s cock pounding into him, making the car shake. All he can see is George behind his eyelids, and that alone makes him speed his hand up around himself.

‘Shit, m’gonna cum,’ Jacob cries out below him, and Matty whimpers, bouncing his hips as Jacob fucks up into him.

Matty’s eyes are screwed closed in pleasure, and all he can feel is George, it’s George inside him, George pulling him apart piece by piece.

‘George,’ Matty wails before he can stop himself. ‘Oh, fuck, George! Yes! Right there, right fucking there!’

Jacob freezes below him, but then he curses and cums, Matty can feel his cock twitching as he fills up the condom, and all it takes is a few more strokes before Matty is cumming, getting cum all over both of them. He’s trembling, heart pounding erratically as he opens his eyes, and Jacob is looking at him unreadably. 

‘The name’s Jacob,’ he laughs awkwardly, and Matty flushes with shame as he climbs out of Jacob’s lap, searching shakily for his clothes and shoes, grimacing when he wipes his cum covered hand on his shirt, not wanting to get it all over Jacob’s upholstery.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Matty mutters, feeling sickeningly sober now that the high of his orgasm, and the haze of lust has started to dissipate. 

They both dress in painfully awkward silence, and Matty is so annoyed with himself because the entire purpose of finding a random guy to fuck was so that he didn’t have to think about George, and what did he fucking do, cry out George’s name when he fucking climaxed. 

Matty wants the ground to swallow him whole as they say goodbye outside of Jacob’s car, because Jacob is looking at him like he wants to say something, and it’s like Matty’s mind has gone totally blank, he can’t think of a single thing to say.

‘Uhh, I don’t really do this very often but, do-- do you wanna exchange numbers?’ Jacob asks, his voice small and uncertain. ‘Maybe give me a call when you get this George fella out of your system?’

Matty shakes his head, feeling bad, because Jacob seems sweet, and he had been pretty damn good for a drunk shag in the back of the car.

‘Sorry, mate. I don't think that’s going to be happening anytime soon.’

Jacob looks taken aback.

‘Oh. Okay, I’ll see you around, I guess,’ he mutters, and gives Matty an awkward wave. ‘I should probably go back to my mates, so they don’t think I’ve died or whatever.’

Matty nods, shivering.

‘See you around, Jacob.’

Matty watches as Jacob heads inside, pressing his thumbs into his temples to try and stop the headache that’s threatening there. With a shake of his head, he reaches for his wallet, hoping that he’s got enough money for a taxi home, but when he sees that he’s only got two quid left to his name, he wraps his jacket tightly around his shaking frame, steeling himself for the long, cold walk back home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly early to be posting a chapter but I've been awake since 6am writing and editing so I apologise if there are any mistakes, a bitch is tired. Thank you again to everyone who's been so kind about this story, it's all for you, and your comments mean everything to me ❤️
> 
> We're starting to near the end now, I think there's going to be maybe three chapters after this one, so the end is in sight! x

As a general rule, Matty’s days working at Vintage Sounds record shop go very slowly indeed. Matty realised within a few days of working there that the shop gets an average of about five customers a day if they’re lucky, most days it’s more like three. During his first week, the Gandalf-esque owner (who’s name is actually Frank, not Gandalf) showed him the ropes, how the till worked, the cataloguing system of the records, and all the usual normal stuff that comes from working in a shop. Matty had done a brief stint working in Poundland a few years ago so he’s no stranger to any of it, and it seems like pretty cushty money if he’s being honest. He’s allowed his phone on him, Matty is always happy to talk about music, and Frank is usually out the back doing whatever it is that he does, and generally lets Matty just get on with it. His hours are 9:30 - 5:30, Monday through Friday, and even though it just about scrapes minimum wage, it’s better than having to beg your mum for a fiver at the age of twenty-eight.

Matty’s new job is also a welcome distraction from moping around and thinking about George. In the days that followed his encounter with Jacob, Matty found himself wishing that he’d taken his number. Jacob was pretty, and he had a nice thick cock, and it’s always good to have your options open, especially when the person you really want has gone total radio silence. 

‘Umm… so I don’t suppose either of you have heard from George at all?’ Matty asks Adam and Ross one evening when they’re round at Ross’ for pizza and beer, a whole two weeks having gone by since George left Matty cold and alone in his bed. Matty had done as he was told, and stayed away, but he’s getting a little worried. George could be fucking dead on his stupid, secluded farm, and no one would know for days!

Adam and Ross look at each other, both opting to sip their beers before Adam answers.

‘We have, yeah. He wouldn’t tell us what happened but he just said that he needed space for a little bit. Not really that uncommon for him these days really, but what the fuck’s going on, Matty?’

Matty sighs, putting down his half eaten slice of pizza, not feeling remotely hungry anymore at the turn this conversation is going in.

‘Do you want the short version or the long version?’ Matty asks, finishing down the dregs of his beer.

‘Short,’ Ross and Adam say in unison, both aware of Matty’s penchant for rambling, especially when he’s got a few beers in him.

Matty leans back on the sofa, eyeing the spider that’s chilling in the corner by the window before turning to face his friends again.

‘George and I used to fuck around when we were kids, George ended it a little bit before I left for London. I came back and apologised, George punched me in the face, I tried to apologise, he fucked me on the kitchen counter, then a few days later he drives to my house, takes me back to his, we got a bit drunk and had a bit of a snog, and now he wants nothing to do with me,’ Matty reels off, feeling deflated once he gets all the words out.

Ross drops the pizza crust he was holding, and Adam just stares at him like he’s just sprouted an extra head.

‘You and George?!’ Ross sounds utterly incredulous, and Matty almost wants to laugh because it’s the polar opposite reaction he’d got from his mum, yet he’d definitely expected his mum to be more shocked than Ross and Adam. Not the case, apparently.

‘Yeah,’ Matty says, his heart feeling heavy to be talking about George again after doing his utmost to not think about him over the last few weeks. ‘Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t know, from what I can gather we weren’t subtle about it.’

‘Not a fucking clue, mate, fucking hell,’ Adam laughs.

‘Yeah, look, I’d rather not talk about it,’ Matty mumbles. ‘All you need to know is that I really fucking tried with George. I actually thought it was gonna be okay, but he wrote me this fucking note, and I just don’t see how it’s fixable, and I’m trying to get on with it, but I just wanted to know if you’d heard from him… I don’t like that he’s up there on that farm all by himself. I get so— I worry about him. And please don’t tell him I told you about us, he probably didn’t tell you for a reason— fuck.’

Ross leans over and gives Matty’s knee a squeeze, a kind smile on his face.

‘We worry about him too, but it’s okay, I think the farm helps him a lot, gives him something to do, and something to focus on,’ Ross explains. ‘What happened to him was really shitty but he’s so much better than he was… he probably just needs a bit of time to get used to you being back.’

‘That’s what my mum said.’

Ross laughs, but it’s kind, and he taps the side of his head with his pointer finger.

‘Me and Denise get it.’

Matty rolls his eyes, desperate (for once) to move the topic of conversation away from himself, so he picks up another slice of pizza before speaking.

‘So, Ross, when were you going to explain to us why you have a love bite on your neck the size of a fucking golf ball?’ 

Ross goes instantly bright red, and both Matty and Adam laugh because it’s not like Ross to be bashful about this kind of thing, that’s usually Adam’s job. 

‘Who’s the lucky lady?’ Adam teases.

‘Uh, well…’ Ross starts, his face now officially tomato red. ‘Do you remember me telling you about that guy from the bank, John…’

‘Holy shit,’ Adam mutters at the same time that Matty lets out an incredibly undignified screech of excitement. 

‘Oh my God, are you fucking serious?’ Matty grins, his mood instantly lightened by this _fucking incredible_ news. He’d always had an inkling about Ross, though he exclusively dated girls, he always had his suspicions, so to be proven correct feels pretty damn good.

‘Am I really the only straight one out of the four of us?’ Adam snorts with a fond roll of his eyes. 

‘Guess so,’ Ross says sheepishly. ‘He’s really nice, and I like him a lot. He comes over after work for a beer quite a lot, and the other day we were talking, and then he just leaned over and kissed me…’

‘Looks like you did a bit more than kissing,’ Adam smirks, tipping his can of beer towards Ross and his bruised neck. ‘He did a proper Edward Cullen on you, mate.’

‘Lovely 2008 cultural reference there. Well done, Adam,’ Matty sniggers as Ross throws a discarded pizza crust at Adam, obviously embarrassed. It hits Adam on the shoulder then skitters to the floor.

‘Aww, Ross,’ Matty coos, leaning over and pulling him into a tight hug, squeezing him, feeling awash with love for his friend who, essentially, just came out to them. He presses a kiss to Ross’ warm cheek, and pulls away, elated for his friend, George completely forgotten for the time being.

‘Proud of you, bro,’ Adam smiles, and Ross gives him a smile that makes his eyes shine, and Matty wonders if he’s about to start crying.

‘C’mon then, Adam, your turn. Have you got any big revelations to tell us,’ Matty says, taking a bite of pizza. ‘Don’t leave us hanging. You haven’t been secretly frequenting Cheshire’s gay bars behind our back all these years, have you?’

Adam gives him the finger, but he’s laughing. 

Matty really does love his friends.

**

Matty examines his hair in the mirror and decides that for a hair dyeing novice, he’s not done too badly at all, better than Oliver at least. His once badly dyed blonde hair is now a vibrant shade of blue, and he kind of loves it. The first thing Matty did after getting paid for the first time in months was buy a box of hair dye and a suit, he’s aware of the juxtaposition between the crazy hair and the formal attire, but he checks himself out fully in the mirror now, suit and all, and winks at his reflection.

Having now been back in Wilmslow for almost two months, Matty is finally going over to Adam’s to meet Grace and Liam. Grace is cooking a Sunday roast especially, and Matty is nervous to say the least. He’s desperate for Grace to like him, and he has absolutely no idea how to act around a two year old. It’s been a long time since Louis was two, and Matty can’t for the life of him remember what he was like at that age. He figures at least that Liam will be enamoured by his hair even if his family weren’t, his mum, dad and Louis had all laughed at him the previous night when he’d done the grand hair reveal, but even that can’t dampen his spirits today. The sun is shining brightly as Matty leaves the house, a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine in hand. There’s finally a spring-like warmth to the bright sunny weather, that subsequently puts a spring in his step to add to his good mood. Matty can’t remember the last time he felt this optimistic about anything, and he’s not even really sure where it came from, but he’s not complaining, because it definitely beats the copious amount of crying he did when he first moved back home. 

He misses George, of course he does, a month having gone by without seeing him, and Matty is almost amazed he managed to go a whole seven years without any contact from him at all. He’s so close, yet he’s never felt further away, and Matty has taken to wearing George’s ugly fleece around the house, almost like a comfort object. It doesn’t really smell much like George anymore, but wearing it still makes him feel like he has a piece of George there with him. And no one has to know that, on occasion, he’ll wear it when he gets off, or he’ll bury his face in it, muffling his quiet cries of George’s name when he cums.

Adam’s road is full of neat, new-build houses, all with small front gardens and white front doors. It’s a little bit too stepford for Matty’s taste, but it makes him smile because no one deserves the white picket fence life quite like the Saint that is Adam Hann. Matty double checks Adam’s address on the text Adam sent him that morning, realises that he’s almost there, and takes a deep breath. He knows deep down that he has no reason at all to be scared, he’s just so desperate to impress, he needs to be liked, as sad as that sounds, especially because Adam is going to be marrying her. Grace isn’t just some girlfriend, she’s Adam’s fiancée, and the mother of his child, she matters to Adam, so therefore she matters to Matty. He tightens his slightly sweaty grip on the flowers and wine, and steels himself.

Once he reaches the correct front door, Matty takes a deep breath and knocks. He can hear voices coming from inside, and the sound of a child crying, and Matty’s sure that doesn’t bode well. After a bit, a slightly frazzled looking Adam opens the front door, and Matty offers him a sympathetic smile.

‘Sorry, Liam is mid-meltdown and I’m trying to keep him entertained while Grace cooks,’ Adam sighs, running a hand through his hair before freezing and fully taking in Matty’s appearance. 

‘You look like a blue raspberry slushie threw up on your head,’ Adam deadpans. just as another loud toddler shriek emits from the house. 

‘Just for that I’m going to tell your lovely fiancée that you’re not allowed any of this wine,’ Matty says with a slight pout.

‘You wouldn’t dare, not after the morning I’ve had. Come in.’

Adam steps back to allow Matty inside; his house is light and airy, white walls with light wooden floors, and Matty’s stomach rumbles at the smell of lunch cooking. He kicks his boots off and leaves them by the door, following Adam down the hall towards the lovely smell. There are pictures of Adam with Grace and Liam all over the walls, and Matty is so awash with fondness that he forgets his nerves altogether.

The kitchen is cosy and smells fucking delicious, and Matty smiles when he sees that the table has been set with cutlery and napkins, and it’s a very stark reminder that they’re _proper adults_ now, adults that do Sunday lunch in formal clothing.

‘Matty this is Grace, Grace this is Matty,’ Adam introduces, and Grace turns around from where she’s been prepping the food, and she smiles warmly at Matty, giving him a small wave. She has curly brown hair and friendly eyes, and Matty can tell why Adam was drawn to her instantly.

‘Nice to meet you, Matty. Adam has told me so much about you.’

‘Only the good stuff, I hope,’ Matty laughs, setting the wine and flowers down on the countertop, mentally telling himself off for sounding like such a fucking cliche.

‘Of course,’ Grace laughs. ‘And you really didn’t have to bring anything, that’s really kind of you. Also, great hair, Liam’ll love it!’

Matty beams at Grace, then turns and gives a scathing look to Adam.

‘Adam, babe, could you go and see if Liam’s calmed down enough to put him in his high chair? Dinner is nearly ready,’ Grace instructs, and Matty giggles quietly at how Adam obeys. Grace turns to him then as Adam leaves the room. ‘I just wanted to say that I’m really glad you’re back, and I’m really glad to finally meet you. Adam’s been over the moon since you returned, even though I’m sure he won’t tell you as such.’

‘Coming back was the best decision I’ve ever made,’ Matty says with a smile, not mentioning that he probably should have never left in the first place. ‘And thank you for doing all of this, it’s really sweet, I’m so happy for both of you. Plus, you complimented my hair, so I already know you’re the right girl for Adam.’

Grace laughs just as Adam enters holding Liam, and Matty almost wants to cry. He’s the spitting image of Adam, only he has Grace’s curly brown hair. His face is a little blotchy from crying, and he’s holding a stuffed bunny in his hands, but his eyes light up as soon as he sees Matty.

‘Blue!’ He giggles, pointing straight at Matty. ‘Blue man!’

‘That’s right, buddy,’ Matty smiles, nervously running his fingers through the aforementioned blue hair. 

‘Liam, this is daddy’s friend Matty, can you say hello,’ Adam says encouragingly to Liam.

‘Hi, Daddy’s friend Matty,’ Liam giggles, and Matty all but melts on the spot.

‘Hello, Liam,’ Matty says, giving him a small wave.

Liam giggles again but then buries his face in Adam’s neck, obviously having gone shy at having all the attention in the room focused on him. Adam presses a kiss to Liam’s curly hair and places him in his high chair at the table just as Grace starts dishing up the lunch. Adam also presses a kiss to Grace’s cheek as he passes her, and the domesticity of the scene makes Matty’s chest ache, he also feels like he’s intruding on the scene a little bit, but then Grace beckons him over to the table with a smile, and Matty can’t believe he’d ever been nervous in the first place.

**

Dinner is, of course, delicious. Matty knew it would be if Grace’s home-made croissants that one time were anything to go by. Conversation is a little stilted to begin with given that Matty’s never actually done anything like this before. His life in London had been far too chaotic for an orderly Sunday dinner, even when he’d been living with Oliver who was arguably his most stable relationship during the time he’d been gone. After a little while though, Matty warms up, and is relieved to find out that he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around Grace, but he does have to curb his swearing around Liam.

‘So, what are you doing now you’re back?’ Grace asks after they’ve all finished their main course. Matty is suitably full, and leans back in his chair.

‘Been working at Vintage Sounds for about a month now,’ Matty says with a smile. ‘The record shop on the outskirts of town… the money is a bit rubbish, but it’s better than nothing. Actually bought this suit with my first pay cheque. Realised I couldn’t be a man in my late twenties that didn’t own a suit, plus I needed something to wear to your wedding!’

Adam and Grace exchange a look then, and they both smile at him.

Matty blushes a little, aware that he has a tendency to ramble and run his mouth, and he’s about to apologise when Adam speaks up.

‘Matty, mate. There’s actually a reason why we wanted you over for dinner,’ Adam starts, his cheeks a little pink, and Grace gives Adam’s hand a squeeze.

‘We, uhh— well, I was wondering if you— I wanted to know if you wouldn’t mind being one of my groomsmen on the big day,’ Adam eventually gets out. ‘I know you left, but I can tell you’re back for good, and I would really like you there… if you want to?’

Matty blinks slowly, and at first he considers asking Adam to repeat himself, but he’s sure he heard it right the first time.

‘You want me to…’ Matty trails off, his eyes pricking with tears, resisting the urge to launch himself across the table and pull Adam into the biggest hug imaginable.

Adam nods, his face serious, and Matty can tell how much this means to him, and how much thought he must have put into it too.

‘I’d be so honoured,’ Matty chokes out eventually, not missing how Adam mutters ‘told you he’d cry’ under his breath to Grace, and Matty giggles weakly through his tears, furiously wiping his cheeks. 

He thinks he has his tears under control, that is until Liam pipes up from his high chair, ‘Don’t cry, blue man,’ and it only makes Matty cry harder.

**

Another week passes, and Matty realises sadly that it’s George’s birthday in a couple of days. He catches himself wondering what George would do were Matty to show up on his doorstep with a birthday card and present. When they were kids, George used to love his birthday because it meant that he and Matty got to be the same age for a couple of weeks, because when you’re a teenager, being the youngest of the group sucked, and George had always been trying to prove himself.

It’s Matty’s day off, late Saturday afternoon, and he’s enjoying having the house to himself. He’s lazing in the last of the uncharacteristically warm March sunshine with his headphones on and a cigarette hanging from his lips when his phone vibrates. It’s a text from an unknown number. 

**+44 7699 450032:** Can you come over? G

Matty stares down at his phone, his heart rate speeding up exponentially as he looks at those four typed words. George must have got his number from Ross or Adam, and before he can tell himself that it’s a bad idea, he types a simple ‘okay’ with shaky fingers, and locks his phone.

Part of him is brimming with excitement to see George again, he’s missed him more in the last month than he has in the previous seven years. Yet, he’s nervous too, and as he pulls on George’s fleece and starts the walk to the farm, he struggles to figure out what exactly George could possibly want from him. After all, it’s George who told him to stay away in the first place.

The sun is starting to set by the time Matty reaches the farm. George didn’t text him back after his own curt response, and Matty is feeling sick with nerves by the time he works up the courage to knock on the front door. He hears barking coming from inside, and then the door is opening and George is standing in the doorway.

George’s eyes are red-rimmed, his hair a tangled mess from where it’s apparent he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s wearing joggers that look looser on him than the last time Matty saw him, and Matty can see faint tear tracks on his cheeks.

Matty had been planning to be a little aloof with George, but that goes completely out of the window when he takes in George’s disheveled appearance.

‘Fuck, are you okay, George? What’s the matter?’

‘M’okay,’ George says quietly, ignoring the second part of the question, and absentmindedly scratching Captain behind the ears who obviously came to see what was going on. ‘What happened to your hair?’

‘Needed a change,’ Matty replies, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of George’s fleece, looking at the other man for a cue for what to do, because George asked him here, and Matty feels very out of his depth.

‘You’re wearing my fleece,’ George states, stepping back to allow Matty inside, closing the door behind him.

‘Didn’t have a coat with me the last time, didn’t wanna freeze on my walk home,’ Matty explains. That’s only partly the reason, but he’s not going to tell George that.

‘I always did like seeing you in my clothes,’ says George, his tone changed to something far softer now, and Matty’s stomach flips.

‘I always liked wearing them,’ Matty admits quietly. He’s been stealing George’s clothes as far back as he can remember.

He can’t place the expression on George’s face. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that he’s been crying, but Matty can’t quite bring himself to ask why.

‘Thank you for coming, I— I got your number from Ross, I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Matty swallows, biting his bottom lip. ‘You just took me by surprise, I thought you didn’t want to see—‘

‘I had to talk to you,’ George mumbles, and Matty sees then that there’s a tremor in his fingers as he brings his hands up to brush the wayward hair from his face. ‘I tried to explain it in that note, but I don’t think I did a very good job.’

‘Sure,’ Matty replies. If he’d known he was about to be berated by George all over again, he wouldn’t have fucking come. He’s only just started to get a handle on how he feels about George, and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear whatever it is that George has to say.

‘I’m sorry for shutting you out,’ George says quietly, looking at George with so much sincerity in his eyes that it’s painful to see George looking so vulnerable.

‘You’ve been nothing but lovely since you came back, and I understand now how hard it must have been for you to come and apologise… and even after I fucking punched you, you still came back… but you have to understand that seeing you again after all this time felt like a fucking sucker punch, I wasn’t thinking straight, I just knew I couldn’t be near you or I’d do something stupid, more stupid than punching you…’ George wipes the corners of his eyes, and Matty can feel how hard George is trying to keep it together.

‘I— I’m sure Adam and Ross told you what happened to me while you were gone. I haven’t had the best time, and I’ve probably been the worst friend, I don’t deserve either of them…they’ve stuck by me even though I was a fucking mess when you left, and when Harley left me…’ George’s voice cracks then, and Matty longs to hold him.

‘When you left, I missed you so much it felt like a part of me was missing, Matty,’ he whispers then, tears slowly starting to track down his face that he makes no effort to try and stop now. ‘It hurt so much, and it never went away. Harley helped for a bit, and I did love her, but she wasn’t you…’

Matty thinks he knows where this is going, and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it.

‘I know I ended whatever it was we had when we were younger, and it’s the biggest regret of my life, because I couldn’t help but think that maybe, if I kept things the way they were that— that you wouldn’t have left me,’ George sniffs, then takes a slow, shaky breath, Matty assumes to quell the tears.

‘I loved you, Matty, and I knew you didn’t feel the same back then, and I just didn’t know how to tell you. I thought I’d ruin everything if I bought it up, so I ended it to protect myself… and then you left. You didn’t even say goodbye.’

George is crying openly now, and all Matty can do is stare, his heart beating so hard he swears it’s about to explode out of his rib cage.

‘You— you loved me?’ Matty whispers.

George nods slowly, raising his teary eyes to look at Matty.

‘I loved you then, and I love you right now, just the same.’

The words ring out, even though they’re quiet, and Matty’s trembling at George’s admission. He doesn’t think words could do justice to the way he’s feeling, so he does what feels right, takes two steps forwards, cups George’s tear stained face in both his hands, and kisses him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This fic has now officially overtaken 'is it too much to ask for something great?' as my longest fic! I'm really sad that we're now nearing the end! Just one more after this and then an epilogue 🥺as I say on every single chapter, your comments and kudos mean everything to me, and you're all the reason I continue to write ❤️ Enjoy!

George’s lips taste salty against his own, but it’s absolutely perfect. He can feel just how hard George is trembling against him, he’s still crying, and Matty is on the verge of tears himself, because George loves him.

‘You can’t kiss me like this if you’re going to leave me again,’ George mumbles against his lips, and Matty ardently shakes his head.

‘I’m not going anywhere, George. I’m here, I’m staying right here, I promise. I promise you,’ Matty breathes, their lips just brushing as he speaks.

‘You really promise?’ George whispers.

‘I really promise,’ Matty repeats, letting his fingers graze over the warm skin of George’s jaw. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of touching George, he’ll always want more, need more of him, and all of sudden it’s like he’s touch starved, and he pulls George close, moving away from George’s mouth, and burying his face in his neck, breathing him in deeply.

George weaves his arms around Matty, and they just stand there for a while, just holding each other. It feels like the universe has finally aligned as he holds George against him, and he feels George’s breath coming out a little bit more even now that he’s calmed down.

‘I’m sorry for ever leaving you,’ Matty whispers eventually, pulling away to look up into George’s face. ‘You deserved more than that, and I will literally spend my whole life making it up to you if that’s what you need from me.’

‘Just don’t leave me again,’ George says, and his voice sounds so small and unsure that Matty feels like the worst person in the world for creating this reality where George feels like he even has to say something like that.

‘How could I ever, hm?’ Matty says softly, looking up into George’s slightly puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

It’s George’s turn to instigate the kiss, and Matty allows himself to get lost in it because there’s nothing but tenderness and love there now. There’s so much Matty wants to say, he wants to return those three words to George, but he’s also desperate to _show_ George too, because George deserves soft, he deserves tender, he deserves love.

‘You kiss exactly the same as you used to,’ Matty whispers when they break the kiss for air, and he can’t help but bring his fingers up to trace over George’s swollen mouth. He watches as George’s eyes slip closed at the touch, and Matty wonders how long it’s been since someone touched George like this. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful, George. I’ve always thought so, never said it, but fuck, you really are.’

George’s cheeks go pink, and Matty feels like he’s falling as George slowly opens his eyes. He swallows, and Matty follows the bob of his Adam’s apple with his eyes. 

‘Can— can I take you to bed, Matty?’

It’s so cheesy, so incredibly _George_ , and it’s a testament to how much George means to him because Matty doesn’t laugh, he just nods, hit with the overwhelming need to be as close as humanly possible to George in any way he can.

Matty links their fingers together, and George lifts their conjoined hand and kisses where their fingers link.

‘I just need to feed Captain. Go, I’ll be with you in a moment.’

There’s a slight shake to his voice, so Matty squeezes his hand, and pecks his lips softly.

‘I’ll see you in a minute,’ Matty murmurs, giving George an almost shy smile as he turns and heads towards George’s bedroom.

Matty feels lighter than air, almost giddy as he shuts the door behind him, and slowly strips himself of his clothes, also glad that he had a bit of a tidy up down there a few days ago. He lets his clothes drop to the floor, climbing onto the bed, kneeling up so that he’ll be the first thing George sees when he comes through the door. His cock isn’t hard yet, but Matty has a feeling that will all change soon; when they were younger, sometimes all George had to do was give Matty a certain look or a quirk of his eyebrow, and it’d have him hard in mere seconds.

Matty is starting to feel a little silly kneeling there, that is, until George appears in the doorway, and Matty thrills in the way George’s eyes darken, drinking Matty in like he’s thirsty for him.

‘Fuck, you’re so—‘ George trails off. His eyes don’t leave Matty’s as he moves forward, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so. He kicks his joggers off, now clad only in his boxers as he reaches the foot of the bed. George’s body is exquisite, he’s strong, and broad, and it’s only now that Matty realises just how much George has filled out and grown up in the time they’ve been apart. It makes Matty’s cock throb and slowly start to harden, because he’s experienced first hand just how strong George is, and Matty gets off on being quite significantly smaller than the younger man.

Matty shuffles forwards on his knees so he’s right on the edge of the bed, allowing George to pull him into a deep, searing kiss that has goosebumps erupting all over his exposed skin. His own hands map against George’s chest, while George cups Matty’s cheeks in his hands, a tender gesture even though the kiss is so full of burning need that Matty feels like he’s about to catch alight.

George releases him then, and pushes him backwards so he’s lying prone on the bed before crowding up against him and pinning both his hands by his sides. 

‘I can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamt of doing this again,’ George whispers, lips hovering close to Matty’s before he starts to kiss and lick at Matty’s heaving chest, his tongue and teeth scraping over the inked heart in the centre.

Matty moans wantonly at the sensation, arching off the bed a little because George’s mouth feels amazing; he simultaneously wants George to speed up and go slower, needing more and needing to savour at the same time.

‘Want you so bad, darlin’,’ Matty pants, longing to run his fingers through George’s hair, fingers flexing where he’s being held down to the bed.

‘You’ve got me,’ George mumbles against Matty’s skin, eyes glancing up at Matty then to ensure that he understands the full meaning of his loaded statement. 

_I love you right now, just the same._

Matty cries out when George starts to kiss and lick lower, eventually sucking a deep bruise against his tattooed hip bone. He wants George to mark him everywhere, he wants George to claim him as his own, because Matty belongs to George, maybe he always has.

George frees Matty’s wrists then, one hand settling on his hip, the other slowly wrapping around Matty’s needy cock. He pumps it slowly, and Matty props himself up on his elbows so he can watch George, watching as his thumb swipes over the head, making him shiver with delicious pleasure. George has a look of pure concentration on his face, but his eyes are dark with want when he looks up at Matty.

‘Forgive me,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve done this.’

Then, George drags the head of Matty’s cock over his tongue, and Matty curses loudly. He can’t remember the last time he had his cock sucked, and George’s mouth is so wet, and warm that Matty flops back down on the bed again. He slides his fingers into George’s hair and scratches lightly as George starts to bob his head in earnest, and Matty all but purrs at the sensation.

‘Oh, fuck. Such a good boy, just like that,’ he breathes out, making George moan around his cock at the praise. George always did have a bit of a praise kink, and it looks like that hasn’t changed. 

Matty’s cock brushes the back of George’s throat, making George choke a little, and it’s only George’s strong grip on his hips, pressing him into the bed, that stops Matty’s hips from bucking wildly. The sound of George choking on his cock is way hotter than it should be, and it seems like George is enjoying it too from the way he’s moaning in between sinking his head down and swirling his tongue over the steadily leaking slit of Matty’s cock.

‘Fuck— fuck. I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop,’ Matty gasps, carding his fingers through George’s hair, and despite George saying that he’s out of practise, Matty can’t see any evidence of that whatsoever. He’s sucking Matty’s cock like a pro, and from the way his cock is straining in his boxers, George is getting off on it just as much. Matty catches himself wondering if George has been with any guys other than him, but decides this is not the time or place to ask.

George pulls away from Matty’s cock just long enough for him to murmur, ‘good’ before he goes back to it, and Matty can feel his orgasm building, definitely exacerbated by the low rumble of George’s voice. He wasn’t planning on cumming so soon, but he also has no doubt he’ll be hard again in no time when George gets his cock inside him.

Matty is whining almost non-stop by now, the only thing he knows is George, and his perfect mouth, sucking him down and swallowing him like he can’t get enough of it, and he barely has any time to warn George before his orgasm crashes through him. He spills long and hard with a wordless cry into George’s obviously willing mouth, his body going almost rigid under George’s grip while he rides it out.

George slowly kneels up, looking down at where Matty is splayed below him, panting and flushed, and probably looking like a complete mess. George’s own face is flushed, and his mouth is wet with spit, red and swollen, and Matty wishes he could take a picture.

‘Jesus Christ, George. I think you sucked my brain out through my dick,’ Matty giggles weakly, wiping the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead.

George’s eyes are glinting with _something_ that Matty can’t quite put his finger on, but then George surges forwards, kissing Matty deeply, opening his mouth and letting Matty’s own release drip back into his mouth. Matty feels his soul leave his body just for a second as he swallows, his spent cock giving a feeble twitch against his stomach. 

‘Fuck, c’mere,’ Matty growls, kissing him with as much fervour as he can muster, and moaning loudly at how they now both taste like him. It’s simultaneously a little disgusting and also so fucking hot that Matty can’t quite process everything that’s happening. All Matty wants right now is to be split open and moaning on the end of George’s cock, he can see it straining against the waistband of his tight boxers, and he reaches down between them to rub at him, moaning at how hot and hard he feels even through the material.

George moans low in his throat when Matty rubs at him, and he bats at Matty’s hand, breaking the kiss so he can kneel up and work his way out of his boxers, his cock slapping hard against his stomach. Matty’s mouth goes dry as he props himself up on his elbows again; the last time they’d fucked, Matty had been bent over the kitchen counter, and hadn’t actually been able to see George naked, but he looks his fill now. His body is perfect, from his toned stomach, to the sharp v lines of his hips, his huge cock curving up against his stomach, hard and leaking, his strong thighs. Matty almost feels speechless.

‘You’re so beautiful, George. You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen,’ Matty whispers, completely enamoured by the small, bashful smile George gives him in response. 

The mood shifts imperceptibly then, George suddenly looks shy, kneeling in the middle of the bed, looking a little bit lost. Matty scrambles up onto his knees, shuffling so he can kneel in front of George, cupping his jaw gently and stroking his cheek with his thumb. George’s eyes are shining with unshed tears, and Matty’s heart gives a tug.

‘You’re okay,’ Matty murmurs, pressing his lips gently against George’s, feeling George’s breath coming out shaky and uneven.

‘Sorry,’ George says quietly, voice thick with tears. ‘I just— I’ve thought about this happening over the years in so many different ways… I just can’t believe you’re here, keep wanting to pinch myself. I missed you so fucking much, I just-- fuck, Matty.’

‘I’m here, I’m not going anywhere without you ever again,’ he reassures, and Matty means it. He could never leave George again, he loves him.

The realisation comes to Matty like someone opening the curtains and letting the sunlight in. 

He loves George, and George loves him. 

‘Thank you,’ George whispers, a few tears running down his face, not from sadness, but from relief, Matty suspects, and he kisses George with as much love as he can muster. He needs George to feel how much he loves him, needs to prove it to him before he says those three words out loud. He wants there to be no doubt in George’s mind by the time Matty says it, and Matty is willing to do whatever it takes.

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ Matty says gently, breaking apart from the kiss to brush the tears from George’s cheeks. ‘I just want you to fuck me… the last time was— well, it was hot, but I couldn’t help but think that all I wanted was for you to fuck me in your bed, on my back. I want to see you, George. I want to see your face when you’re so fucking deep inside me. Can you do that for me, love? I need it.’

George seems to come back to himself then as he nods, and Matty’s stomach flips with excitement and arousal. He’s not hard again yet, but he knows it won’t be long. George kisses him again, pulling Matty in so they’re pressed tightly together, and Matty can feel the wet drag of George’s cockhead against his stomach. 

‘On your back,’ George says, voice low, and Matty is relieved to see that he’s recovered from his slight confidence wobble. He does as he’s told, laying back down again, spreading his legs for George, and trying his best to give George what he hopes is a coy look.

George swallows slowly then lets out an almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he leans over and grabs a small tube from the top drawer of his nightstand. 

‘You’re ridiculous,’ George says, but it sounds like ‘I love you.’ He’s smiling fondly, causing Matty to just flutter his eyelashes at George, giggling at the way his stomach does somersaults. Nothing on this earth makes Matty’s soul feel lighter than seeing George smile.

George leans in slowly and presses soft, butterfly kisses to the inside of Matty’s thighs, and he moans softly at just the slightest touch. He can tell that George is drawing this out, he doesn’t want it to end, and neither does Matty. He could do this for the rest of his life.

‘Ready?’ George whispers, lips dragging over Matty’s skin as he speaks. 

‘Put your fingers inside me, please,’ Matty all but begs, his cock hardening so quickly that it makes him feel lightheaded at the rush of blood.

George’s fingers are wicked, teasing his rim as soon as he’s given him the green light, then pushing two in at once, slowly until they’re all the way inside.

‘Jesus Christ, your fucking fingers,’ Matty groans when George finally stills, allowing Matty to get used to the stretch, his hips twitching, his hole stretched out and burning but in the most delicious way imaginable. It had felt good the last time, but this is _infinitely_ better. 

‘Swear your arse is better than any pussy I’ve ever fucked,’ George murmurs with something like awe in his voice when he slowly starts to curl his fingers.

Matty is so turned on, flushed all over, he can feel it all the way down to his fucking toes. George’s voice is a low, deep rumble, and it goes immediately to Matty’s aching cock.

‘Fuck, keep talking to me like that,’ Matty gasps, pushing his arse back against George’s fingers to get some traction, spreading his legs impossibly wider. 

Matty has always loved George’s voice. It’s so deep, so low, and he can make even the most banal of things sound fucking filthy just because of the tone of voice he uses. He swears George isn’t even aware of it most of the time, but it gets Matty worked up so fast it’s not even funny.

‘What? Like how I can’t wait for your tight little hole to be squeezing my cock instead of my fingers?’

Matty whimpers, glad George’s confidence has returned because this is hot as fuck, and he thinks he could come from George’s words alone. He brings two of his own fingers up then to suck on as George starts to not only curl his fingers, but fuck Matty with them too, just grazing his prostate on every drag, and driving Matty almost feral with need.

‘George, please,’ Matty whimpers, his fingers falling from his damp lips as he pleads at George, but for what, he’s not too sure.

‘Please, what?’ George murmurs, pressing his mouth to Matty’s inner thigh and sucking on the sensitive skin

Matty gasps, his eyes rolling back. He wants to cum again, but he doesn’t want to cum from his fingers, he wants to cum with George’s thick cock fucking him into blissful oblivion.

‘Fuck me,’ Matty moans, his toes curling and flexing against the sheets as George continues to make him feel so good. ‘Feels— feels so fucking— ah— so good, but I want you inside me, G, please.’

George nods, almost feverishly as he slowly slips his fingers out of Matty’s body and wipes them on the sheets. Matty whines, his arse clenching around nothing, hating feeling empty, but he knows that in a second he’s going to be so full he won’t know what to do with himself. 

Matty strokes himself lazily while he watches George slick his cock up; George is looking at him so intensely that it makes him feel even more exposed than he already is, like George can see inside him, and maybe he can. Maybe George is the only person who truly _sees_ Matty for who he really is.

‘Grab a pillow for— for your hips,’ George says softly, and Matty obeys, propping his hips up on the pillow, and gazing up at George adoringly. This is the furthest cry from the George of a few months ago who punched him in the face, and told Matty he hated him. This George is soft, and kind, and Matty knows that the chances of getting through this without either or both of them crying again is slim to none.

George crowds him against the bed again, kisses him softly and carefully positions himself so that Matty can feel the slick head of his cock nudging against his hole. He presses his face up into George’s neck, breathing him in to calm his racing heart, the feeling of George all over him making him feel a little lightheaded. Sex has never made him nervous in the past particularly, save for maybe his first time, but he can tell how much this means, especially to George, but he has no doubt in his mind that George will make this perfect. 

As soon as George thrusts forward, Matty’s jaw drops open, his head falling back against the pillow as he feels George fill him up inch by perfect inch until his balls are resting flush against Matty’s arse. George’s hair is falling all over his face, so Matty reaches up to brush it away, loving the blissed out look on George’s face as he holds himself there, rolling his hips but not thrusting just yet.

‘Fuck,’ George groans, his face hovering over Matty’s so that he can feel the hot puffs of George’s breath against his lips.

‘Mmhmm,’ Matty whines, fighting back a whimper as he tries to get used to feeling this split open. He’s not fucked anyone since Jacob, but George is quite a bit bigger than Jacob had been, and it’s taking him a while to adjust. Last time he and George fucked, they’d both been running on adrenaline and anger, but there’s none of that this time, and Matty just tries to breathe, albeit shakily, through the pain.

George presses his forehead against Matty’s, and Matty can’t help but kiss George, his stomach doing somersaults when George cups his face so tenderly, almost holding Matty’s face against his. He can feel George’s love like an almost tangible thing, with his face cradled in George’s hands as they both focus on breathing.

‘You can move,’ Matty whispers after a minute. 

His arse no longer burns, and when George starts to thrust shallowly, he lets out a loud cry, realising that they’re in the middle of nowhere and he can make as much noise as he pleases. The slow, hot drag of George’s cock inside him is exquisite, he’s walking the finest line between pleasure and pain, and it’s only when George speaks that he realises that his cheeks are wet. 

‘You’re crying,’ George whispers, stilling inside Matty, and copying him from earlier, wiping his cheeks free of tears with his thumbs gently.

‘This is— it’s just a lot,’ Matty chokes out. ‘You can keep going, please, please don’t fucking stop, George. I need you.’

 _I love you_.

George kisses Matty deeply as he pulls his cock all the way out until just the tip is inside, before thrusting all the way in again in one deep perfect thrust that has Matty seeing fucking stars behind his eyelids.

‘Yes! Fuck, just like that, do that again,’ Matty whimpers against George’s mouth. 

George repeats the action, but this time Matty all but screams when George’s cock grazes his prostate, then hits it dead on with the next deep thrust. Matty threads his fingers deep in George’s hair and tugs hard as George buries his face in Matty’s neck. His breathing is laboured and he moans deeply when Matty tightens his grip on his hair on one powerful thrust.

‘Harder!’ Matty moans, and George complies, pushing his face into Matty’s neck as Matty wraps his trembling thighs around George’s waist. 

Through the thick, intoxicating haze of pleasure, Matty is just about aware that George is mumbling in delirious pleasure. Curses, praise, Matty’s name, and then…

‘I love you. I love you— fuck, I love you so much— fuck, oh fuck, I love you, I love you…’

Matty mouths the words back silently, damp eyes trained on the ceiling. He wants to say it so badly, but he doesn’t want George to think the words are inauthentic because they’re said during sex. For now, he just has to hope that George can feel it.

Everything becomes hazy after that. The air is thick with sex and sweat, their bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm. George has the location of Matty’s prostate memorised, and he nails it on every single thrust, and Matty is so utterly wracked with pleasure that he can’t talk anymore, all he can manage are moans and whimpers.

George is giving it everything he’s got, the bed is creaking under the force of his thrusts, and he’s silent save for his heavy breathing. That is, until Matty shreds his nails down his sweaty, muscular back, and George sobs out a moan that’s thick with pleasure.

When Matty cums, it takes him by surprise. He’s so wrapped up in George, and how he’s being fucked so perfectly that he forgets to touch his cock, but the insistent pressure on his prostate tips him over the edge, and George just keeps fucking him through it. He’s shaking and crying wordlessly, and George slams his lips against Matty’s when he realises what’s happening.

‘Oh my fucking God,’ George growls against Matty’s mouth, thrusting harder still as Matty goes utterly lax, his stomach covered in his own sweat and cum.

‘Cum inside me,’ Matty manages to gasp out, reaching up to cup George’s face. ‘Want you to cum inside me, G.’

‘Matty,’ George moans, and Matty watches his eyes slip closed with pleasure as his orgasm starts to build. ‘Matty, baby, fuck!’ Then he’s cumming, his thrusts loose and sloppy as he keeps fucking Matty through his orgasm, despite the fact that Matty can feel him trembling with pleasure and exhaustion.

Matty groans at the feeling of George spilling inside him, coating his insides, claiming him as his own, and Matty just clings to him as he rides it out. 

George eventually collapses, face buried in Matty’s neck again while Matty blinks at the ceiling, trying to recover from what might possibly be the best fuck he’s ever had. He runs his fingers through George’s sweat-matted hair with a shaky hand, his heart rate slowly returning to normal as they lay there, together in comfortable silence. 

‘That was fucking incredible,’ Matty murmurs after a new minutes. ‘ _You_ are fucking incredible, George.’

George lifts himself up on shaky arms, pressing a gentle kiss to Matty’s lips before easing his cock slowly out of Matty. He hisses anyway because being empty feels strange and foreign, and he misses the closeness.

‘M’just gonna go get something to clean us up, just stay there,’ George says gently, clambering off the bed, slightly wobbly, and Matty is amazed he still has strength in his legs after all that. 

Matty’s own thighs are still shaking, even when George comes back, looking a little fresher with a glass of water and a washcloth in his hands. George sets the glass on the side, gazing softly down at Matty, prone on the bed, before he climbs back up and starts to clean him up, dragging the cool cloth over his flushed, messy skin. Matty can’t help but gaze adoringly up at George the entire time. The air is heavy with something that feels almost religious and ritualistic as George washes him, and Matty flushes when George runs the cloth over his hole, obviously doing his best to clean up some of the cum that’s inevitably leaked out of him.

‘Good as new,’ George says with a soft smile when he’s done, setting the cloth on the nightstand and handing Matty the water. Matty sits up and gulps down the water greedily, moving over a little to allow George room to climb back into bed. 

The sheets are messy, creased and covered in sweat, but Matty kind of likes it, and he leans over and kisses George’s cheek.

‘Just need a piss, I won’t be long,’ he smiles as George settles himself under the covers, his eyes look heavy with sleep already, and Matty isn’t surprised, not after that spectacular fuck.

‘Two doors down on the right,’ George says with a yawn.

Matty teeters to his feet, and wobbles to the bathroom. As he pisses, he can feel more of George’s cum dribbling down his legs, and he can’t help but giggle. He feels exhausted and giddy, and when he catches a glimpse of himself while he’s washing his hands, he grins because he never really thought that the after sex glow is a thing, but he’s genuinely glowing with happiness for the first time in years. 

When he climbs into bed, George is already asleep, flat on his back as usual, but Matty is glad because it means that he can cuddle up close, and even asleep, George pulls Matty into him. He leans over and turns off the bedside lamp, the room plunged immediately into darkness, and Matty falls asleep, lulled by George’s presence, and rhythmic breathing. His final thought as sleep overtakes him is that he wants to fall asleep like this every night for the rest of his life.

**

Matty blinks slowly against the darkness, he’s groggy, unsure what woke him, but he’s with it enough to appreciate the warmth of George’s body pressed up against his back, a heavy arm draped over his waist. He snuggles into it, utterly content, smiling to himself when George’s soft, sleepy snores cause the hair on the back of his neck to tickle him lightly.

‘I love you,’ Matty whispers.

George just snores softly in response.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr, my username is 'healybedford' 💖


End file.
